


Remake Me

by JensenAckles13



Category: Asgard - Fandom, Avengers, Frostiron - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: Angst, Eventual Kind!Loki, Except Odin, He's a Major Dick at First Though, Loki Needs a Hug, M/M, Memory Loss, Odin Doesn't Deserve Hugs, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony isn't Himself, Will Have Happy Ending, eventually, everyone does, hurt!Tony, slave AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensenAckles13/pseuds/JensenAckles13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark was captured by Asgard years ago, molded into the perfect slave. <br/>With no memories of his past life, he serves as Odin's personal slave and the occasional unwilling bed mate to his master's personal guards when they need to let their anger out- which, ironically enough, is more often than not. But he never complains. He did at first, but he'd learned. <br/>And then one day, he discovers he has magic. It's through an unfortunate accident that has him whipped until he can't stand, but it's magic nonetheless. He only does it when no ones looking, after that. <br/>Until one day, someone is looking- someone with piercing green eyes and an odd collar around his throat</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saved

Tony silently gazed at his fingertips, watching as golden flames danced across the palm of his right hand. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew. But ever since he’d discovered his aptitude for magic, he’d been attempting it whenever he could.

The first time he’d done it had earned him a severe whipping; it had been in his master’s presence, killing one of his personal guards. It had been purely by accident, of course, but the word ‘accident’ didn’t mean much to his master these days. Perhaps it never had. It had been nearly three weeks ago; the guard had forced him down to his knees and told him to suck, the fingers of his free hand unlacing his pants while Odin watched with sadistic glee at seeing someone made so low. Tony still wasn’t entirely sure what happened; he’d envisioned the guard impaled with his own sword, prayed for it to happen even though he knew it was damn well impossible and then- and then it _wasn’t_ as impossible as he’d thought as the guards sword pulled itself from his grasp and shoved itself through the guards chest plate, piercing his heart and killing him almost instantly. Odin had shouted something that Tony had been unable to understand before he found himself shirtless in his master’s personal dungeon, a thick leather whip being brought down on his back over and over again until he passed out.  
Regaining consciousness had been a pain, quite literally, and he hadn’t been able to stand for three days after the ordeal. Oddly enough, Asgard’s King _(and his master)_ had allowed him those three days to recuperate before ordering him back one night to clean up after dinner in his personal chambers. Almost immediately after Tony had finished cleaning, Odin had dumped a small bowl of red berries onto the floor and ordered him to eat them all and then lick the juice from the ground- he wasn’t allowed his hands.  
It was a simple message, really: you are mine and I can do with you whatever I please.  
Tony had learned that one long ago, so really, it was an empty message.

So here he was now, praying he wouldn’t be caught. It seemed he did a lot of that lately; praying. To which god, he would never know…..just one that would finally listen, perhaps. Using magic always ignited delicious warmth in him, allowing him a way to finally escape the horrors of the only reality he’d ever known. Sometimes, whenever he worked with fire, silvery-blue sparks would randomly dance in with the gold, glowing the same color as the strange glowing circle in his chest _(he’d always thought it was odd- no one else he’d seen on Asgard had such a thing, only him)_.

Tony didn’t hear the stranger approach; the other’s footsteps were silent, it would’ve been impossible to. But he certainly heard him speak.

“My, my. I hadn’t expected to see you here,” the smooth voice drawled.  
Tony didn’t have time to think; he simply dropped to his knees, let go of the thread of magic, folded his hands in his lap and kept his eyes on the ground.

“Apologies, sire,” he murmured, sitting stock still even as the stranger’s boots came into focus. The stranger knelt down, his hand reaching towards Tony’s face and Tony couldn’t help but flinch. The long fingered, pale hand paused before continuing on its path, slowly this time, as if not to frighten him. Gentle fingers curled around his jaw and tilted his head carefully up until he found himself staring into ungodly green eyes, reminding him no small amount of emeralds. Jet black hair framed the god’s face, falling just past his shoulders in soft waves. Dark brows were tilted down in a slight frown, which tugged at the corners of the other’s tightly pressed lips.  
What stood out most, however, was not the piercing eyes but the golden collar wound around delicately around the other’s slim neck. It was intricately decorated, the strands of thin metal intertwining with each other. Runes flowed elegantly into each other, but Tony was fairly certain it wasn’t something the stranger wore for decoration.

“What is your name?” the other asked in a soft voice, as if speaking to a frightened animal.

“Tony, sire,” he replied instantly. No hesitation, no emotion: just as he was taught.

“What is your last name, Tony?”

Tony planned to reply, he truly did. He opened his mouth, prepared to speak his last name...before realizing he hadn’t a clue. He supposed he’d had one at some point. The realization that he’d be unable to answer the question sent a jolt of fear through him. His eyes widened ever so slightly, his heart thudded painfully in his chest and he had to knot his fingers together to prevent the trembling in them from being seen.  
Taking a steadying breath, he forced himself to remain calm, letting all outward emotion trail right back inward where it belonged.

“I am unsure, sire.”  
Still unable to look away from the searing eyes, he knew that the god had seen his reaction and, worse, was troubled by it. That could only mean something terrible would happen to him.  
“A-apologies, sire,” he whispered and mentally flinched at the weakness his voice portrayed.

“Do not apologize,” the god said, smiling a very small, very tired smile. “Come. You look cold.” The god rested a gentle hand against the small of Tony’s back, making him whimper as the still healing flesh from the whipping was jostled. The kind stranger’s frown deepened but he said nothing, instead taking Tony’s hand and carefully tugging him to his feet.

“I- I cannot leave. My master will be displeased.” He’d learned long since that Odin hated being referred to as ‘angry’.

“I can deal with him myself, Tony. Fret not,” the god said with a grim smile. Tony simply nodded, not wishing to argue with the god who was being kind enough to help.

With a simple wave of the stranger’s hand and a brief green glow, a large fur blanket appeared in his hands. He carefully wrapped it around Tony’s shoulders, mindful of his injured back, and began leading him from the dining room while Tony burrowed into the blanket and kept his eyes down.  
Fear caused his heart to thud painfully in his chest: what would Odin _do_ when he found out Tony had left without asking permission? He would be angry, there was no doubt about that. Another whipping, perhaps worse than the one he’d already gotten. No, perhaps didn’t belong there. It _would_ be worse than the one he’d already gotten. But gods, who was Tony to ignore the orders of a god? He was just a lowly mortal; a pet was what his master often referred to him as. His rightful place was kneeling at someone’s feet. Why wasn’t he there now? There were so many questions running through his mind, it made his head hurt.

He kept his eyes on the ground and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, not daring look at the kind stranger. He was sure he would get hit if he looked into the stranger’s eyes again anyways.

He wasn’t quite sure where he was led, but they eventually made it to a door with guards posted in front of it. Tony immediately stiffened upon seeing their golden boots; they were force to a standstill when the guards drew their swords in warning.

“What’s this one doing out of the AllFather’s chambers?” one asked, poking his sword in Tony’s direction. Tony flinched away from the sharpened blade, hoping today wouldn’t be the day he died. Though perhaps it would be a better alternative than his master’s wrath once he’d found out Tony was gone.

“You dare question your prince?” the stranger asked the guards, sounding extremely unimpressed and borderline murderous.

“ _Fallen_ prince,” the guard corrected. “You are no prince of mine. It belongs back at its master’s feet,” he continued, tapping his sword against Tony’s hip. Tony flinched again, but couldn’t help but agree.

“ _He_ does not belong at _anyone’s_ feet, let alone that pig you call a King,” the stranger sneered angrily. “Now _move_ or I will not be responsible for anyone being unable to find your body.” The stranger’s fingertips were beginning to glow a deep emerald green. The guard paused for a moment before stepping aside with clear reluctance.  
The stranger pushed open the door on his own, something Tony was already moving to do, and motioned Tony inside.  
Tony took a step to move through the doorway, but at some point the guards foot had made its way in front of Tony’s, causing him to trip and wobble before falling to the ground, his knees hitting the marble flooring with a painful crack. He didn’t react though; he simple scrambled to his feet and hurried through the doorway while the guard snickered to himself. The laughing cut off abruptly, shortly followed instead by a gasp of pain and the dull thud of something _(a body, Tony presumed)_ hitting the floor. No matter how curious he was, Tony didn’t dare ask. It wasn’t his place. He simply stood in the middle of whatever room they were in, still clutching the blanket to keep it on, his head tilted downward and his eyes on his feet. The familiar boots of the stranger came into his view before those same gentle, long fingers gripped his jaw lightly and turned his eyes up to the poison green ones of the god once more.

“You needn’t fear me, Tony.”

The other spoke so gently, Tony almost believed him.

“Then I will not, sire.”

“You do not have to lie to me. I can hardly blame you for your fear,” the stranger said in that same gentle voice of his. “You are cold still,” he said absently, seeming to notice Tony’s shivering.  
Without a word, the stranger lit a fire in the fireplace with a simple snap of his fingers, and led Tony over to it. There was a chair placed at an angle just off to the right of the fireplace. Tony immediately knelt at his place beside it, folding his hands in his lap and taking in the wonderful warmth, letting the blanket pool around his waist.

“Tony,” the man said quietly. “The chair is for you.”  
Tony moved his eyes up to the stranger in shock, unable to help himself. A _chair?_ Slaves didn’t get chairs. They got the cold, hard floor and sometimes, if they were lucky, soft, plush carpet. But a chair? Even more so, something that would put himself up at the other’s level? It was beyond frightening; would this new stranger punish him for taking the chair? Or punish him if he didn’t?  
Deciding to play it as safe as he possibly could, he slowly moved himself up to the chair, perched stiffly on the edge. Darting his eyes up to the god to see if what he had done was alright, he was greeting with a smile, so true and soft that Tony couldn’t help but relax, even if it was only enough that his shoulder’s were slumped slightly rather than held back as his master had made sure he’d always done.

“Much better than the floor, isn’t it?” the god asked softly and Tony nodded.

“It is, sire. Thank you.”

“For allowing you to sit in the chair?” the other asked in slight confusion.

“Yes,” he replied, nodding his confirmation.

“You needn’t thank me for that,” the god said, amusement in his voice. “It is simply a chair.”  
Tony nodded, but oh, it was so much more than that. It was a step towards being a person again, if that was something he’d ever get to be. If that was something he’d ever deserve to be. But, as of now, he did not. So he remained calm and quiet as he sat, his hands folded neatly in his lap and his eyes on the floor, away from the stranger’s intense gaze.

“Are you hungry?” the stranger asked after a moment of tense silence and Tony jerked in surprise.

“I…suppose I am, sire. But you needn’t go to the trouble of finding me food if it is inconvenient to you.”

“No…it’s quite alright. I shall find you something.” Tony could practically hear the frown in the god’s voice and he wondered silently what he’d done to make that look appear on the other’s face. He could feel the god’s eyes boring into the back of his head, watching him closely just as everyone else had, as if he were a criminal of some sort. But the air in the room wasn’t as tense or troublesome as it should have been. In fact, it was rather…calm. Tony was fairly certain the man was concerned, and that was….new. Odd.  
A moment later, Tony heard the gentle whisper of the other’s boots on the ground as he walked out.

Tony remained sitting quietly where he was, staring into the flames in the large golden fireplace. He only looked around when he was sure the stranger was gone.  
Tilting his head up, slowly, in case the other returned, he let his gaze wander around the room: it was large, perhaps even overly so. On one side of the elegant room _(Tony assumed it was a bedroom)_ , there were large doors that led to a balcony outside, letting the starlight shine into the room. On the opposite wall to the left, there was a bed that could easily fit four people with a very soft looking, deep emerald coverlet, golden sheets folded delicately over, and intricately crafted golden pillows for décor with the same deep emerald stitched in lovely patterns around the fabric of the pillows. A faintly golden, shimmering canopy fell elegantly to either side of the bed, giving it a very royal and regal look. There was a bathroom back towards the door they had come in and another closed door beside that one that Tony assumed was a closet. Aside from the bookshelves with the few, simple trinkets perched on them, the room looked as if it was hardly ever used. Dust had collected over the rows of books and the trinkets: in fact, it looked as if someone had just begun using the bedroom again today after a long period of absence.

Shaking his head, Tony gazed down at his hands, now resting palms up on his thighs, and pulled gently on a strand of magic resting close to the forefront of his mind: it was golden strand, sometimes changing to the same, odd silver-blue of the thing in his chest, comfortable from use. He maneuvered and twisted until the strand was where he needed it to be and he let golden and silver-blue flames dance across his fingertips, sinking into the comfort he’d found long ago while using magic; it was an excellent way to escape the harsh realities he was living, even better if he wished to lose himself- this was the best way to do it. It was strangely comforting, the feel of warmth at his fingertips, the light that could so easily banish any darkness that had been closing in, the way his entire being felt lighter whenever he used magic like this. It was a delicious safe haven, one of the few things he had left that made him feel safe…a safety blanket, if you please.  
It, much like the odd light in his chest, gave a feeling of peace while still remaining grounded.

He froze when he heard gentle footsteps. They broke him out of his haze and he immediately let go of the strand, closing his palms to extinguish the flames completely.

“Please,” the stranger said in a soft voice. “You needn’t stop on my account.”

“Apologies, sire,” Tony breathed out, heart pounding painfully against his ribcage. His master had taught him long ago that magic was a sin, not to be used or even attempted. The promise of a painful, slow death still wasn’t enough to stop him from doing it…in private, of course. But he’d been caught. What if this got him his death? What if this was what finally pushed someone over that edge? He could be executed now. And it wouldn’t be easy, oh no. It would be something terribly painful and terribly slow. He’d been caught with fire; burned at the stake, perhaps? Tony was sure his master wouldn’t hesitate to do that.

He didn’t realize he’d been hyperventilating until he felt gentle fingers carding through his hair and heard a soft voice telling him to breathe; it was oddly comforting, almost as much as the light in his chest or his magic. Perhaps even more so. No one had touched him with a gentle hand or graced him with a gentle word in such a long time…it was foreign now.  
Shaking his head without realizing because he knew he didn’t deserve it, deserve _this_ , the comfort and the kindness and whatever else the stranger offered him, he pulled carefully away from the god. When his hand moved from Tony’s hair to his face, Tony flinched, preparing for a strike that was sure to come now that he had purposely ignored something his new ma- this new stranger had given to him in a gift of kindness, he was surprised to see the hand pause and then drop into the strangers lap.

“Here,” the god said instead, settling a bowl of something hot and something that smelled absolutely _delicious_ in Tony’s lap. “Soup. Volstagg just made it…though he did make plenty, so I’m sure he won’t miss one bowlful.” The stranger gave a kind smile, which Tony could only see because he was avoiding the strangers green gaze, before standing and walking over to the door beside the bathroom and sliding it open before walking inside.  
Unsure if he was actually allowed to eat it, Tony slowly took a small spoonful- and _oh_ , it was absolutely Heavenly. Some sort of meat and vegetable soup with a rich, salty flavored broth.  
He ate quickly after that, finishing nearly half the bowl before the stranger had even come out of the closet. Unfortunately, however, he quickly realized he’d eaten too much. His stomach was already beginning to cramp in protest.  
Gazing at the stranger’s newly loafer fitted feet _(he’d likely changed into something more comfortable- strange that he didn’t ask Tony to undress and redress him)_ he debated with himself for a few moments. If he asked to be done, there were only two options: one, the stranger allowed him to be done or two, Tony would get a severe beating for not finishing what was given so kindly to him.  
His heart pounding and his hands trembling around the warm bowl, he asked haltingly;

“S-sire?”

The kind stranger moved over towards him.

“Yes?” the other said softly.

“Is it- is it alright if I am finished?”

A length pause followed and fear caused a shiver to roll down Tony’s spine. Oh, he’d asked the wrong question. He most certainly had. Feeling his breathing speed up again, he began eating the soup as fast as he could, lest he get a beating and this be his last meal for the next three days for his blatant ungratefulness.  
Those long, cool fingers curled gently around the hand he held the spoon with, still halfway to his mouth and Tony froze, staring in terror at the stranger’s hand- at his _strong_ hand. The strong hand that could cause quite a bit of pain if it wanted to.

“It’s quite alright, dear Tony,” the man said softly. “I simply thought you would eat more, though I should have known you would not have been able to. Of course you can be done- let me just take your bowl for you.” Carefully, the stranger did as he said he would and took the bowl, setting it on a nearby table. “There now. Would you like some rest? You look tired.”  
And Tony certainly was tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept…had it been four nights ago? Or maybe a week? His master had forced him to work long, long hours after his…display with magic and the dead guard, likely to exhaust him so he would no longer wish to use his magic.

“If it is alright with you, sire,” Tony replied, head ducking respectfully, hands folding themselves in his lap automatically.

“Of course it is,” the god said with a smile in his voice before proceeding to stand and beckoning Tony after him. He lead Tony over to the bed and Tony frowned at it in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned on him.

“You wish to bed me, sire?” he asked quietly, knowing the answer he would get, knowing he wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning, knowing he would wake cold and bruised and hurting and alone. Knowing-

“By the Norns, no,” the god said, sounding genuinely shocked and saddened that Tony thought this. “No, you can sleep here if you wish.”

That finally caught his attention. Tony gaped at the kind stranger in utter shock.

“I- I can?” he stuttered. The stranger nodded.

“Of course.” He smiled encouragingly. “Go on,” he said with wave to the bed.  
Tony slowly crawled into the bed, scared it was a trick but praying to anyone who would listen that it was not.  
He was fully beneath the covers when the god spoke again.

“Is it comfortable? I could get you more blankets if you’d like…”

“Thank you, sire. This is perfect.” And for once, there wasn’t even a hint of a lie.  
The stranger smiled again as Tony snuggled into the bed, curled up in one corner of it, afraid to take up too much space lest the god wish to join him.

“Of course. Oh, and you must stop with all this ‘sire’ business. You can just call me Loki,” the god- Loki- said with a kind smile.  
Tony yawned and nodded his confirmation.  
He’d heard that name before…Loki. He’d supposedly attacked Midgard at some point with an army of Chituari at his disposal, using the Tesseract to open a portal- now, Tony wasn’t sure what the Chituari were or what the Tesseract was, but apparently they were both very powerful.  
Tony opted against asking. It would be out of his place to do so.

“Of course, si- Loki…”

“Good. Now sleep, Tony.”  
So Tony did, closing his eyes and drifting off almost immediately.  
It was the best sleep he’d had in years.  
And Loki, the god who’d saved him, had given it to him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Loki glowered at himself in the mirror. To be more specific, he glowered at that blasted collar that wound itself around his throat. It wasn’t that it hurt _(and it certainly didn’t, unless he attempted to get the damn thing off)_ , it was more what it meant and what, exactly, its purpose was. It meant he was fallen, disgraced, _owned_. The ex-prince of Asgard; and to think, Odin was ashamed to call him his son when it should be the other way around. What kind of person imprisons someone for acting while they had no control over what they were doing? Well, the Great King of Asgard. Norns, it was a miracle the realm had survived as long as it had.   
As for what the purpose of the collar was...well, it was made by the best elves in Alfheim specifically to bind his magic, limit it, put his power in another’s hands; it was Odin’s to give or to take, and everyone knows that a mage without his magic will break. Not everyone, however, cared. Especially not when it came to the Jotun Prince of Asgard- disgraced the moment he was taken into Odin’s home as a babe.

Turning his attention away from his own reflection, he made his way to Odin’s personal dining chambers, hoping to find something edible that didn’t consist of the mush like _stuff_ he was forced to eat instead of real food. Oatmeal is what the guards had called it, and it was absolutely awful.   
He paused, however, at the near silent patter of footsteps in the dining room. He peered around the corner of the door and his eyes latched onto a very unexpected sight indeed.

Tony Stark, the famous _(or infamous)_ Man of Iron stood alone near the half cleared table, his hand held palm up, beautiful golden flames with hints of silver-blue dancing throughout lighting his palm. The mortal seemed just as mesmerized as Loki himself had become, entranced by the show of magic which had become so rare in Asgard- he hadn’t seen his own since the incident in New York, and that was years ago.   
Oh, he was going to have fun breaking this man.

“My, my. I hadn’t expected to see you here,” he drawled, strolling slowly in, hands folded neatly behind his back. He also wasn’t expecting, however, the violent flinch or the way Stark immediately dropped to his knees, so rushed that Loki heard them knock painfully into the ground.

“Apologies, sire,” the soft voice murmured, hands folding neatly in the mortals lap, head bowed. Loki froze for a moment, gazing down in shock at the once strong mortal before him. Oh, this could be an advantage. A very large one. He wasn’t called the Trickster for nothing. His tongue could spin tales better than even the best elves could forge metal.

Kneeling down, he slowly reached a hand out, pausing when the mortal flinched. Ha! How pitiful.  
Gently but firmly taking the other’s jaw between his fingertips, he tilted the mortals head up until they locked eyes- the mortals eyes were so full of fear, Loki couldn’t help but feel pity.

“What is your name?” he asked gently.

“Tony, sire,” Stark replied quietly, blinking rapidly, occasionally twitching as if fighting the urge to look down again. Loki should let him. This is where the mortal belonged, on his knees before a god.

“What is your last name, Tony?” he asked in that same gentle voice. The mortal opened his mouth, preparing to speak and then…nothing. His eyes widened in fear and Loki could feel the puff of his breath from his nose speed up as he took a moment to panic before seeming to calm himself.

“I am unsure, sire.” His voice trembled but he didn’t seem to notice this. Loki filed it away to look into later. So, he truly did not remember. Interesting.   
“A-apologies, sire,” the mortal whispered, his hands knotting in his lap.

“Do not apologize,” Loki said quietly, smiling a small, tired smile. “Come. You look cold.” He carefully rested a hand on the mortals back, where he had seen the whip marks earlier, relishing in the whimper the man gave as Loki’s hand came in contact with the still healing flesh. Loki frowned, as if he were deeply troubled, and took Stark’s hand instead, gently pulling the man to his feet.

“I-I cannot leave. My master will be displeased.” Oh, he certainly would be. Loki smiled a wicked little smile to himself before softening it as he gazed back at Stark.

“I can deal with him myself, Tony. Fret not,” he replied. The mortal simply nodded.  

Waving his hand, he allowed himself to waste precious magic on this ridiculous, shivering mortal; a large, white fur blanket appeared in his hands and he wound it around Stark’s shoulders, careful not to injure him again, and lead him towards his own personal chambers while the mortal burrowed into the pelt and kept his eyes down. Loki could see the mortal running every possible situation through his head, and just how much he feared repercussion. That was fantastic. He could put that fear to use.

Once they got back to his bedroom, one of the guards on duty scowled at them.

“What’s this one doing out of the AllFather’s chambers?” he asked, poking his sword in Tony’s general direction. Loki hid his purely wicked smile in a deadly glare.

“You dare question your prince?” he snarled in his most unimpressed and murderous tone.

“ _Fallen_ prince,” the guard corrected and that sent Loki’s blood boiling. “You are no prince of mine. It belongs back at its master’s feet,” he continued and tapped his sword against Stark’s hip.

 “ _He_ does not belong at _anyone’s_ feet, let alone that pig you call a King,” he sneered angrily. “Now _move_ or I will not be responsible for anyone being unable to find your body.” He allowed his fingertips to glow a deep emerald green. The guard paused for a moment before stepping aside with clear reluctance.   
Loki smiled triumphantly and more than a little rudely at the guard before pushing his way past them. One of the guards heavy boots, however, magically seemed to make its direct way into Stark’s path, tripping him. He fell hard, but scrambled back up as if nothing had happened. Needing to keep up the charade, Loki let out a wordless snarl and slit the guards throat so fast, all he had time to do was gasp and fall. Smiling smugly, Loki slipped past the other disgruntled guard and into the bedroom, where Stark stood, looking lost with his head bowed and his hands buried in the fur.    
Loki gently gripped the other’s jaw again, gazing into his deep brown gaze and saying softly.

“You needn’t fear me, Tony.” He spoke so gently, Tony wouldn’t have a choice but to believe him.

“Then I will not, sire.”

“You do not have to lie to me. I can hardly blame you for your fear,” he said in that same gentle voice of his. “You are cold still,” he said absently, noticing Tony’s shivering.

Without a word, he lit the fireplace and pulled up a large, plush chair for the other man to sit in. However, Stark knelt beside it instead, seeming grateful for the fire.

“Tony,” he said quietly. “The chair is for you.”   
Stark looked at him with wide eyes before slowly making his way to the chair.

“Much better than the floor, isn’t it?” he asked softly and Stark nodded.

“It is, sire. Thank you.”

“For allowing you to sit in the chair?” he asked, pushing just the right amount of confusion into his voice.  

“Yes,” Stark replied, nodding his confirmation.

“You needn’t thank me for that,” he replied, amusement in his voice. “It is simply a chair.”   
Tony nodded and simply folded his hands in his lap and stared at the floor.  

“Are you hungry?” he asked after a moment of silence, and Stark jerked in surprise, causing Loki to hide a nasty smile. It was just so _fun_ scaring the man.

“I…suppose I am, sire. But you needn’t go to the trouble of finding me food if it is inconvenient to you.”

“No…it’s quite alright. I shall find you something.” Loki said with a slight frown, watching the mortal a moment before going to find him something to eat. Norns, this was much too entertaining. The fear in the man’s eyes, the constant need to kneel, the _silence_ coming from one who used to be so talkative, it was _beautiful_.  

When Loki returned from the kitchens, telling Volstagg that “the Great King requested sustenance”, Stark was working with his magic again. It was quiet impressive, Loki had to admit, for a slave.   
When the mortal heard him approach, however, he froze before quickly extinguishing the flames, as if he would get a whipping for using magic in a mage’s presence.

“Please,” he said softly. “You needn’t stop on my account.”

“Apologies, sire.”   
But the mortal was already starting to hyperventilate, chest moving much too fast, his hands shaking badly.   
Loki gently carded his fingers through the other’s hair, calming him and bringing him back to reality, waiting until he had fully calmed to pull away. Norns, when had the mortal last bathed?  
Moving his hand from the mortal’s hair to cup his cheek, he forged a frown and let his hand drop back into his lap even as he settled the bowl of soup in Stark’s lap.

“Here,” he said softy. “Soup. Volstagg just made it…though he did make plenty, so I’m sure he won’t miss one bowlful.” He smiled before moving into the closet to change into something more comfortable- ah, yes. Simple leather pants, a silken tunic and loafers. Much better than all the heavy metal and leather.   
Stark had already finished half of the bowl by the time Loki returned, and he blinked a time or two in surprise before remembering the mortal was likely starving.

There was a halting moment where there was no sound but the crackling of the fire, and Loki watched the mortal curiously as he seemed to wage some sort of internal battle with himself.

“Yes?” he asked softly, making his way over to the frightened mortal.

 “Is it- is it alright if I am finished?”

Loki stared at him in surprise for a moment; he’d been sure the starving man would eat more. This just seemed to frighten Stark even more and he began shoveling the food into his mouth as fast as possible, as if he would get punished if he didn’t eat all of it. That was likely a lesson Odin would teach. Reaching out, he gently stilled Stark’s hand and watched as Stark stared at said hand in abject horror.

“It’s quite alright, dear Tony,” he said softly. “I simply thought you would eat more, though I should have known you would not have been able to. Of course you can be done- let me just take your bowl for you.” Carefully, Loki did as he said he would, setting the bowl down on the table beside them. “There now. Would you like some rest? You look tired.” Another internal battle seemed to be waged before the man nodded ever so slightly.

“If it is alright with you, sire,” Stark replied, head ducking respectfully, hands folding themselves in his lap automatically.

“Of course it is,” he replied with a smile before standing and beckoning Stark after him, leading the other to the bed. Stark frowned at the bed in confusion for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what it was, before something akin to understanding seemed to dawn on him, and all color drained rather alarmingly from his face.

 “You wish to bed me, sire?” Stark asked softly, emotionlessly. The voice of a man who had this happened on multiple occasions.

“By the Norns, no,” Loki said, genuine shock and pity in his voice. Who in the Nine Realms would _dare_ do that to someone? Even to a lowly mortal? It was disgusting and terrible no matter who you were. “No, you can sleep here if you wish.”

Stark gaped at him in utter shock and confusion.

“I- I can?” he stuttered. Loki nodded.

“Of course.” He smiled encouragingly. “Go on,” he said with wave to the bed.   
Stark slowly crawled into bed, as if it might bite him. Loki waited until he was fully beneath the covers to speak again.

“Is it comfortable? I could get you more blankets if you’d like…”

“Thank you, sire. This is perfect.” And for once, there wasn’t even a hint of a lie.   
Loki smiled as Stark curled himself in the far corner of the bed.

“Of course. Oh, and you must stop with all this ‘sire’ business. You can just call me Loki,” Loki said with a kind smile. Faked, of course, because he was much too good at that. Faking.   
Stark yawned, though it seemed he tried to hide it, before nodding his understanding.

“Of course, si- Loki…”

“Good. Now sleep, Tony.”   
Stark closed his eyes, and it seemed he was out in minutes. The mortal had to be exhausted.   
Ooh, this was very good. Much better than anything he could have imagined. Well, his imprisonment wasn’t turning out as badly as he’d originally thought.

Smiling wickedly at the innocently sleeping mortal, he shook his head.

_Oh, this is going to be so much fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I decided I would be posting as I finish the chapters. Honestly, there's no telling how long it could be in between. It could be a couple of days, it could be a couple of weeks. Sorry! Hope you're enjoying though!


	3. New Master

Waking up was….unpleasant. If only because of the fact that he was awake, and if he was awake, it was for a reason. That reason was likely his master, as that was the only reason Tony was ever actually up before the sun was. But there was something else. Something….warm. Not unpleasantly so. In fact, it was rather nice to wake up warm and in a bed rather than cold and stiff from sleeping on the floor all night.   
Wait.   
In a bed.   
A persons bed.   
With said person wrapped around Tony.

Tony felt the relaxation that came with a good night’s sleep fading away as awareness returned full force. He felt his muscles tense and stiffen against his will, sweat beading on his brow, fear kicking his heart into overdrive. There was a _person_ wrapped around Tony.   
Loki’s arms were wound around his waist, the other’s legs tangled with Tony’s. Somehow, Tony’s head had come to rest against Loki’s chest. He could feel Loki’s length pressing warm against his thigh even through his soft cotton pants. And Tony was completely trapped. Even the slightest move might wake Loki, and Tony couldn’t say what the god’s reaction would be if he were woken this early, let alone by an undue panic attack that wasn’t even his own.   
Closing his eyes and pretending that everything was alright, he focused on his breathing, reigning in all emotion until it was back where it belonged, storming quietly along inside; it was an exercise he’d discovered helped quite a bit, mostly in keeping him sane. Meditating, he could call it, but it wasn’t quite to that extent. It was mainly breathing, no imagery or anything like that. It was breathing and gaining control and it certainly helped when he felt as if he was either going to jump off of the tallest cliff in Asgard or break down and cry for hours. So far, he’d only done the latter and he intended to keep it that way.   
Oh, another thing that helped keep his heartbeat normal and his mind sane; focusing and babbling internally about something that had nothing to do with anything. That way, there was no anxiety to come with. Unless he thought about why he had to worry about anxiety. That was typically when the panic attacks occurred, and those usually got him flogged for insubordination or because his master had been particularly frustrated that evening and hadn’t the time nor the patience to deal with that sort of thing. Which, he didn’t ever, but he was a king; that was stressful and really, Tony was lucky to be his slave so he shouldn’t complain.

So that was how his morning went- pressed up against his new mast- against Loki’s chest, feeling the god’s chest rise and fall steadily, feeling his breath puff out against Tony’s neck all the while Tony held himself perfectly still, contemplating an attempt at slipping from the god’s resting arms and praying he wouldn’t wake him. The contemplation ended up lasting much too long anyhow. Loki woke nearly an hour later, not seeming to realize anything was wrong. At least, until he did, and jerked away from Tony as if he’d been burned.

“Oh,” Loki said quietly, sounding absolutely miserable, but Tony didn’t dare turn to face him. “I am terribly sorry, Tony. I…I hadn’t meant to…” The god fell silent, and it took Tony at least forty-five seconds longer than it should have to realize that the god wanted a verbal reply.

“It is alright, Loki,” Tony rushed to assure once he realized that was what Loki needed of him.

“No,” Loki immediately protested. “It really isn’t.” Tony didn’t press the issue, so Loki didn’t appear to find any reason to go on. He simply extracted himself from the ungodly soft bed and stretched his arms high above his head, his back arching and his tunic sliding up to reveal a sliver of pale skin and firm muscle. Turning his eyes away and sitting up instead, Tony sat quietly on the edge of the bed, awaiting instruction. Perhaps yesterday had been a test of some sort, a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security before the real hurt came.   
“I am going to dress,” Loki announced idly, likely telling Tony this so he wouldn’t attempt to flee without the other in the room.

“Do you require my assistance?” Tony asked, perhaps too quickly, causing Loki to pause mid-stride.

“No, I-” Loki paused and stepped closer, and Tony let his eyes fall to the ground at the feel of Loki’s on him, boring into his downturned head. “You want to help,” the god realized.   
Tony started in surprise.

“No, I- well, I mean, yes I do but- I mean, I don’t have….only if you require it, Loki,” he finally settled on, feeling heat crawl up his neck and into his cheeks. Incredible. After all this time, he still had the ability to grow embarrassed. Well, he says ‘all this time’ but he isn’t exactly sure how long he has been Odin’s slave. Years, he knew, but he couldn’t remember anything about his past life- if he’d ever had one. Perhaps he’d been a slave all his life and just didn’t know it. The thought was rather depressing, actually, so he shoved it aside with all the other things he didn’t wish to think about. It wasn’t a good thing to do, this bottling things up, but it was effective short term so as good a thing to do as any.

“Alright,” Loki said after a lengthy pause and Tony’s head snapped up in surprise but he quickly got to his feet and hurried after the god, who had somehow managed to pick out an outfit by the time Tony reached him. Helping the god undress was slow going but much easier than helping him dress. Ignoring the fact that Loki was completely nude and seemed to forgo underwear completely, he helped the other slip into the leather trousers, lacing and knotting them once they were settled on his hips. Next was the shirt, a simple emerald tunic, laced loosely from Loki’s sternum to the hollow beneath his Adam’s apple. Over that was a black leather vest, buttoned from the waist up to the sternum where the V of the neckline and laces began. Of course, the jacket was next- a long, black leather and gold trimmed thing that fell to mid-thigh, with a high collar that showed off the curve of Loki’s neck. The socks and boots were last, the boots laced at Loki’s calves and buckled tightly along the insides of the boots, which were knee high, almost like riding boots but much more intricately designed.   
When Loki was dressed, he bowed his head in thanks and seemed pleasantly surprised at Tony’s own bow in response- his master had demanded it almost every time Tony was in his presence; it was automatic now, but it seemed to please his new- it seemed to please Loki, so all was well.

“Are you hungry, Tony?” Loki asked, pulling Tony from his thoughts.

“I-” Tony paused and shook his head. “If you are, Loki.”

“Nonsense, dear Tony. I asked if _you_ were hungry,” Loki chided softly and Tony ducked his head, folding his hands neatly in front of him.

“I am, Loki. But you needn’t trouble yourself if you are not. I can wait.”

“Perhaps you _can_ , Tony, but that certainly doesn’t mean you _should_. Come, sit. I shall have someone bring us something.” Loki led him over to the round table in the far corner of the room, indicating he sit in the chair and not on the floor as he’d been planning on doing, Feeling his cheeks heat, whether with shame or embarrassment he was unsure, he settled himself in the chair he had started to kneel beside, perched delicately on the edge in case Loki wished him to kneel at his feet instead. Loki, however, didn’t seem to want anything of the sort and instead walked to the door and spoke quietly to one of the servants outside before coming to sit across from Tony.

Tony could feel those intense eyes on him, calculating, but he didn’t dare look up. If Loki wanted something, he would certainly ask it; surely he knew Tony would be required to answer, no matter if he wanted to or not. It was simply the way of slaves, an unspoken rule; if your master wanted something, you gave it, even if you didn’t want to. That was never told directly to a slave, but it was a lesson one learned very quickly.

Instead of a fellow slave coming with food, however, it was something far worse; Tony felt his heart lurch when he caught sight of his master, standing tall and proud and very, very angry. Eyes widening, Tony slid from the chair and dropped to his knees, the crack of them hitting the floor echoing loudly in the sudden silence that had followed his master’s appearance.

“Hm,” Odin sniffed, looking down his nose at Tony, who was shaking so badly in fear of the consequences that would follow, that he knew his master would be even more disappointed. “I hadn’t thought you would run here for protection.

“Master, I-” he started in a quiet, fumbling voice, but Odin cut him off immediately.

 _“Silence!_ ”

Tony immediately fell quiet, cowering towards the floor, wishing for all the world that he could just melt into a puddle of nothing and disappear.

“Father,” Loki sneered, getting to his feet and stepping in front of Tony almost….protectively, blocking him from the heat of his master’s stare. Sagging thankfully, Tony listened carefully. “Need I remind you who this man was? He needn’t accept this treatment, least of all from you.”

_Who he was? That was the question, wasn’t it…_

“And I needn’t accept _this_ treatment from _you_ , Liesmith. Would you prefer to be treated as Thor was? Shoved unto mortality, thrown to the confines of Midgard? Is that what you would prefer? To be trapped in the very realm you tried to overtake?”

“You know just as well as that you would not send me away, least of all to Midgard,” Loki scoffed and Tony winced, wondering how Loki talked to his master this way, let alone _scoffed_ at him.

“Is that so?” Odin asked flatly, though Tony knew there was no real question behind it. If anything, it was a threat.

“Yes, father, _that is so_ ,” Loki sneered. Tony winced again but said nothing, knowing it wasn’t his place to.   
His master’s eyes narrowed just enough to be considered dangerous, but Loki held his ground and stood calmly as if this weren’t a problem at all…as if it wasn’t worrying.  
After a silent moment, Odin seemed to come to a conclusion.

“You wish to keep him?”

There was a silent moment after that, in which Tony was assuming, was shock and maybe horror from Loki, before a quiet chuckle followed, a dark, foreboding thing.

“Indeed I do, father,” Loki replied, seemingly having calmed and drawn his anger back in.  

“You may keep him then,” his master said and Tony couldn’t help it when his head whipped up in shock. “However,” Odin said and Tony felt fear grip his chest in a bruising grip. “You must show him his place. He is a _slave_ and it appears he has forgotten this. You must treat him as he should be treated. I will have the elves forge a new collar and binds for him, to ensure it is known that he is _yours_. Do not show mercy, _my son_ , for it is not something he deserves. I suppose I needn’t worry about that, though. You weren’t merciful to Midgard or its inhabitants. Oh, and have fun with him; from what I’ve heard, he makes an excellent bed mate.” With a patronizing pat to the top of Tony’s head, Odin turned on his heel and strode from the room, the door slamming loudly enough behind him that Tony jumped.

Loki narrowed his eyes and spit curses after Odin before pacing animatedly back and forth, hands folded tightly behind him as he muttered angrily under his breath in a language Tony didn’t understand. So he remained silent, staring at the ground and not speaking a word, letting Loki work his anger out and hoping it wouldn’t be directed at him.   
After a few moments, however, Loki seemed to remember Tony’s presence and stopped mid-step, turning to him and saying sharply.

“On your feet, Tony.”

Tony scrambled to comply, head remaining bowed and hands remaining folded neatly before him, fingers laced tightly together to try and hide their fierce trembling. All in all, everything was painting a rather bleak picture and he’d rather not make Loki any angrier than he clearly already was.   
Loki raised his hand slightly, stepping towards Tony and Tony flinched, squeezing his eyes closed and leaning slightly away, hunching his shoulders in, in preparation of being hit. When no strike came, but instead a hand soothing gently down his trembling back, he relaxed, letting out a breath and opening his eyes.

“Tony,” Loki said softly, nudging Tony’s head up to look him in the eyes. “You may be mine now, but you are in no way my _slave_ , let alone a bed mate. You will be treated as you should; father was correct in saying that much. You will be treated as a person and a friend. That means you are allowed to sleep in a bed, eat however much you want, drink whatever you want, sit in chairs and anything else you can think of that you see me doing, yes? You are a _person_ , therefore you will be treated as one. You needn’t hesitate to ask if you need something, or speak if you wish to. Understood?”

“Yes, Loki,” Tony murmured, still gazing into those unnaturally green eyes.

“Good,” Loki said with a smile, rubbing Tony’s lower back in small circles. “Now, why don’t we go find someone to dress you properly, yes? You shall be dressed like royalty, Tony.” And with that, Loki spun on his heel and walked from the room, Tony scrambling after him. “We shall get something to eat on the way, as I suspect father has cancelled that order.”   
Tony nodded wordlessly, following behind his new master and wondering, aching to know just how things would be working, now that he belonged to Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fairly short and I'm sorry about that. Also sorry for how long it took to get this chapter up, hopefully the next updates won't take this long


	4. Mine

Loki woke from one of the best night’s sleep he’d had in a long while, feeling for the first time since he could remember well rested and content. It took him a moment to remember just where he was- everything was so warm, so comfortable that he never wanted to leave the bed. That was, until he felt a tense figure in his arms and remember just where he was and who said tense figure was.   
He jumped backwards immediately, unwrapping his arms from around the trembling mortal, his own eyes wide with shock. While yes, he had wanted to frighten Stark, he hadn’t wanted to _violate_ him; he knew well enough how terrible a thing it was, having someone do as they will with your body without question or consent. It had been a pattern of sorts, with Thanos. It had saved Loki the more…painful aspects of torture, though bedding Thanos had never been a pleasant experience. But it was better than the other ripping his mind apart for his secrets.

“Oh,” Loki murmured, silently miserable because while he would do many things, rape was not one of them. “I am terribly sorry, Tony. I…I hadn’t meant to…” He fell silent, unable to finish the sentence. The very thought of taking someone against their will was absolutely repulsive. The apology was genuine, surprising even himself. Then again, he had been wrapped around the mortal in a complete and utter breach of his personal space and more so with the other’s lack of trust, it was very likely he’d thought Loki was going to do something to him. It had been stupid, when he’d crawled into bed with the mortal last night. Loki had thought it would be funny, scaring the man out of his wits if he’d woken and seen Loki sleeping curled up beside him- on the opposite side of the bed, but still on it. He hadn’t meant to… _attach_ to him.

“It’s alright, Loki,” Stark replied, rushed, when he seemed to realize Loki was waiting for a verbal response.

“No,” Loki blurted, an immediate protest. “It really isn’t.” Stark didn’t press, so Loki didn’t continue. Ah, well. He hadn’t actually done anything, and really, if the mortal was afraid, it was his own damn fault. Instead of speaking, Loki crawled from the safety of his bed and stretched his arms high above his head, working out the stiffness in his muscles.    
Tony sat himself up- Loki could hear the rustle of his clothing- and sat silently, presumably waiting for instruction.

 “I am going to dress,” Loki announced, waiting for the question he knew would come.

“Do you require my assistance?” Tony asked quickly, and Loki paused in the midst of his next step, feigning hesitation.

“No, I-” and then Loki paused, stepped closer to the fidgeting mortal _(who didn’t actually seem to realize his gentle bouncing)_ as Stark’s eyes fell to the ground. “You want to help,” Loki stated, putting question and hesitance into his voice, as if he hadn’t known that already.   
Tony jerked in quiet surprise.

“No, I- well, I mean, yes I do but- I mean, I don’t have….only if you require it, Loki,” he finally settled on, a lovely blush making its idle way from the mortals neck to his cheeks.

“Alright,” Loki said with a slight smile and Stark jumped at the chance to help.   
While Stark dressed him, Loki let his mind wander to…more pressing matters. One being how he would convince Odin he was treating his slave how he “ought to be treated”- mainly, that meant physical torture, with things like whips and canes. Or sexual, of course. Perhaps he could use what little magic he still retained to…create marks without the pain or the mortal’s knowledge? It would be simple enough- red welts across the back and thighs, maybe add on his own personalized collar…perhaps he could convince Stark to crawl, attach a leash…no, no. He was supposed to be convincing this man he was helping him, treating him as a person. Easing Stark into society again would be difficult, yes, and time consuming but breaking him again will end up being oh so delicious.

Loki was torn from his thoughts when Stark stood fully, his shoulders hunched as they usually were; the god bowed his head in thanks and was pleasantly surprised when the mortal gave his own deep bow in response; it wasn’t out of the ordinary for a slave to bow to his or her master, but Loki’s goal was to ensure Stark believed Loki _wasn’t_ his master….his saving grace, his friend, yes, but never his master. Not yet, anyways. That would come later.

 “Are you hungry, Tony?” Loki asked, internally relishing at the jerk of surprise the man gave.

“I-” Tony paused and shook his head. “If you are, Loki.”

“Nonsense, dear Tony. I asked if _you_ were hungry,” Loki chided softly and Tony ducked his head, folding his hands neatly in front of him.

“I am, Loki. But you needn’t trouble yourself if you are not. I can wait.”

“Perhaps you _can_ , Tony, but that certainly doesn’t mean you _should_. Come, sit. I shall have someone bring us something.” Loki led him over to the round table in the far corner of the room, indicating he sit in the chair and not on the floor, as he’d clearly been about to do. A lovely blush chased its way up Stark’s neck and cheeks, and the man perched himself delicately on the edge of the chair, prepared to go down on his knees if he must. Loki tilted his head, regarding the mortal below him- so willing to kneel; it was delicious- with focused eyes, taking in the way Stark seemed to shrink into himself, as if he knew he were being watched. It was strange, seeing the man who he’d fought and who had fought him so stupidly, so bravely with his own mortal Silvertongue and his metal hands, ready to bend himself over backwards if it meant pleasing Loki.

Loki was distracted by the door slamming open- and it certainly wasn’t the food servant he’d called for. No, there stood Odin, the King of All Kings himself, standing tall and proud and very, _very_ angry. Loki didn’t even have to look at Stark to see his fear- the crack that made his own knees ache as Stark’s hit the floor told him everything he needed to know.

 “Hm,” Odin sniffed, looking down his nose at Tony, who practically radiated fear and submission. He had to be absolutely terrified. At the moment, however, Loki couldn’t feel anything but fury towards Odin- not even satisfaction at his enemy brought so low. “I hadn’t thought you would run here for protection.

“Master, I-” Stark started in a quiet, fumbling voice, but Odin cut him off immediately.

 _“Silence!_ ”                                                     

The silence left after those echoing words was deafening, more so than the boom of Odin’s voice or the crash of Thor’s thunder.

“Father,” Loki sneered, getting to his feet and stepping in front the cowering man on the floor, looking for all the world like he wished nothing more than to melt into it. “Need I remind you who this man was? He needn’t accept this treatment, least of all from you.”

“And I needn’t accept _this_ treatment from _you_ , Liesmith. Would you prefer to be treated as Thor was? Shoved unto mortality, thrown to the confines of Midgard? Is that what you would prefer? To be trapped in the very realm you tried to overtake?”   
Anger broiled low in Loki’s gut, the little magic he had boiling with his temper, but he’d been alive long enough to be able to hide this- and well. He wasn’t called the God of Lies for nothing, after all.

“You know just as well as that you would not send me away, least of all to Midgard,” Loki scoffed, pretending it was disrespect and not anger _(or both, it was certainly both)_ for the man before him that caused him to speak this way.

“Is that so?” Odin asked flatly, though Loki knew well enough that there was no real question behind it. Intimidation, is what Odin was trying for. Respect. Fear. None of which he would be finding from Loki.

“Yes, father, _that is so_ ,” Loki sneered, and then took a breath; it seemed anger was something Odin was used to, however, as he didn’t react aside from a narrowing of his eyes. After a moment of tense silence, in which Stark’s breathing racketed upwards and Loki’s temper rose, Odin spoke once more.  

“You wish to keep him?”

Silence fell once more, bringing with it Loki’s shock at having been offered his f- Odin’s personal slave. There was a catch, of course- there always was. This had never been part of his plans; wasn’t even taken into consideration. Never in a million years would he expect the great King himself to offer his shunned, adopted son his own personal slave. Ooh, this could be _so_ much fun.

“Indeed I do, father,” Loki replied, now calm and collected, hiding joy rather than anger.  

“You may keep him then,” Odin said with a sleazy smile. Loki heard the rustle of Stark’s clothing as he moved behind him. “However,” Odin continued slowly. “You must show him his place. He is a _slave_ and it appears he has forgotten this. You must treat him as he should be treated. I will have the elves forge a new collar and binds for him, to ensure it is known that he is _yours_. Do not show mercy, _my son_ , for it is not something he deserves. I suppose I needn’t worry about that, though. You weren’t merciful to Midgard or its inhabitants. Oh, and have fun with him; from what I’ve heard, he makes an excellent bed mate.” With a patronizing pat to the top of Stark’s head, Odin turned on his heel and strode from the room, the door slamming loudly enough behind him that the mortal jumped.

Loki narrowed his eyes and spit curses after Odin before pacing animatedly back and forth, hands folded tightly behind him as he muttered angrily under his breath. Oh, the bastard; he knew Loki was up to something- somehow, he knew, and now _Loki_ knew he knew and everything was just one big mess all round. On one hand, the getting of his new slave was an excellent achievement, considering what he had planned. On the other, however, if he did as asked _(as planned)_ , he would be conforming to Odin’s ideals, giving him what he so desperately craves; the submission of one Loki Laufeyson. There was no way Loki would ever allow that, or give that- not to Odin, especially not to him.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he turned his eyes down onto Stark, kneeling silently like the pathetic dog he was.

“On your feet, Tony.”                  

Stark scrambled so quickly to his feel, he nearly sent himself back onto his knees- Loki was sure he would have ended up kneeling once more if it hadn’t been for the knack of balance he seemed to possess. The fierce trembling of the mortal’s hands was well hidden in a move that had spent years in practice, fingers laced and head bowed in a show of submission. Raising his hand slightly, as if he were simply going to move the mortal’s hair away from his eyes but as a way of testing his reaction, he smiled internally in wicked glee at the flinch Stark gave; how his eyes squeezed shut and his shoulders hunched, as if preparing for a strike. Instead, Loki allowed himself a small, secret little smile and soothed a hand down the trembling man’s back, hearing a soft, exhaled breath of relief for his efforts.

 “Tony,” Loki said softly, nudging Stark’s head up to look him in the eyes. “You may be mine now, but you are in no way my _slave_ , let alone a bed mate. You will be treated as you should; father was correct in saying that much. You will be treated as a person and a friend. That means you are allowed to sleep in a bed, eat however much you want, drink whatever you want, sit in chairs and anything else you can think of that you see me doing, yes? You are a _person_ , therefore you will be treated as one. You needn’t hesitate to ask if you need something, or speak if you wish to. Understood?”

“Yes, Loki,” Stark murmured, gazing silently into Loki’s eyes, meeting his gaze head on despite the fear swirling in those chocolate depths.  

“Good,” Loki said with a smile, rubbing circles into Stark’s lower back. “Now, why don’t we go find someone to dress you properly, yes? You shall be dressed like royalty, Tony.” And with that, Loki spun on his heel and walked from the room, leaving Stark to scramble after him- Gods, he was a dog on a leash. “We shall get something to eat on the way, as I suspect father has cancelled that order.”   
Loki was answered with silence, but that was perfectly alright. He now had what he needed: Tony Stark.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a while...sorry! Hope this update doesn't disappoint...


	5. Firsts

The events of the past few hours had drained him.

First had come the dreadful confrontation with his ma- with Odin, who had hounded him like a dog until Loki had asked to keep him. _Loki_. The one who Tony could never dream of deserving, the only one who had helped or even seemed to care. The one who had saved him from Odin himself, had now asked to keep him and even more, had been _allowed_ to keep him. On top of that, he’d made sure Tony understood that he was a person and that he would be treated as such and that might’ve been the best thing that could’ve happened. On top of the food he would soon be getting, and new clothes _(all he had now was a bland gray, ill-fitting tunic that fell to his knees)_. Loki was being kind, much too king; the rumors that had circulated about this wayward prince couldn’t _possibly_ be true, not after what Tony had seen. It was incredible, how badly you could think of someone without having properly met them.

And then he _had_ met Loki, who was nothing like the awful person Odin had said him to be. Of course, they had been mere rumors he had heard- but he’d formed an opinion of the god nonetheless, and perhaps it wasn’t in his right to do so without having met him, but that was what he’d done anyways. Was he a terrible person for it? Perhaps. No, he really, really was. It was wrong to base your knowledge of another person, and furthermore your opinion, on rumors. And he knew that just as well as the next man. But he’d gone and done it anyways, and Loki had gone and proven him wrong. It wasn’t particularly shocking- the God of Lies not being who many said he was simply for the fact that he was the _God of Lies_ , after all. He had to be incredibly deceitful to earn himself that title. But he didn’t seem particularly mischievous; at least, not to Tony’s limited knowledge of him. So he opted to study the god- naturally, this wasn’t easy as he knew he would get chastised, or worse, for looking straight at his new master, just as he had with Odin. Then again, he _didn’t_ know that, because Loki was much too confusing to figure out; sometimes, he would be angry and other times he was the gentlest person Tony could ever remember meeting- even kinder than Frigga. But those times when he was angry, when he would march in after a long day, whether it be a hunting trip with the Thunder God that Tony desperately wanted to meet but would never dare ask to, or a spending talk with Odin; Loki would return home, ranting and raging about imbeciles and false family and Jotun’s.

The first time Loki had thrown something _(given, it hadn’t been at him)_ , he’d been so terrified that the next heavy book would be thrown at him because of how _bad_ he’d obviously been _(Loki wouldn’t be that angry if it wasn’t because of him, right?)_ that he’d been reduced to a cowering, blubbering mess, on his knees begging forgiveness for whatever it was he’d done wrong. The look Loki had given him was so heart-wrenchingly guilty that Tony had felt even worse, even when the god had wrapped him up in his arms and ensured him he’d done nothing wrong.

The first time, for everything really, was three and a half weeks into living with his new master. It had been a generally good day- Loki had requested breakfast, of which consisted of delicious fruits he’d never heard of and he’d fed Tony by hand. Then had come the time to dress, which he did so for Loki and the god, in turn, dressed him. Leather had become the new norm, for Tony, and he found he quite liked the feel of it on his legs. With it, he wore a simple, blood red tunic, the laces undone at his sternum, with a gold vest over the top. He wasn’t quite sure _why_ Loki had chosen the colors or why he liked them as much as he did, or why they seemed so utterly familiar, but they did and it was relieving in a way he couldn’t understand. That day, Loki had taken Tony to visit the library and allowed him to pick out _two_ books- one on the Physics of Midgard _(“Careful with that one, Tony. Wouldn’t want you to be getting smarter than I, now would we?” Loki had teased)_ and another on the architecture and engineering of Asgard. He’d grown much, much more comfortable in Loki’s presence; he didn’t ask for things, no, and he really didn’t do much else but what Loki requested of him, but he _did_ accept the god’s gifts _-_ the books, the clothes, the food- without argument. He didn’t argue anyways- he would end up getting himself whipped like he did with Odin if he dared that again- and he just allowed Loki to do as he pleased when it came to him.

The day ended when Loki very quietly approached Tony while he was reading, sitting on the rug by the fire. The god gently settled his hand on Tony’s shoulder, startling him so badly he dropped the book.

“Easy, Tony, ‘tis but me,” Loki said with a calming smile and Tony curled his hands into fists to stop the god from seeing them trembling.

“Have I done something wrong?” Tony asked when he saw Loki’s smile melt into a frown, panic edging into his own voice. Oh, what _had_ he done? Was he not supposed to be reading? Perhaps Loki had simply let Tony choose the books _for_ him? Oh, he was going to get whipped, he’d done something wrong, he was going to-

“No. I was wondering if you might want a bath with me tonight.” The voice was quiet, oh-so-quiet and hesitant. Tony felt himself freeze, even the trembling of his hands stopping in favor of freezing in his shock.

“W-with you, sire?” Tony asked in a quiet, stuttering voice. Was Loki going to attempt sex tonight? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had it, no, but it would be the first time with Loki. But, no, there was no reason to panic. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen Loki naked before _(he helped him dress and undress each night)_ , but Loki hadn’t seen _Tony_ naked before.

“Yes, Tony. You do not have to if you do not want to; please, do not feel obligated to do anything.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, thinking. It didn’t _seem_ like Loki was in the mood for sex. In fact, he seemed rather tense. Perhaps- but Loki was already turning away, disappointment not quite hidden in his eyes.

“No, no I’ll do it, Loki.” He didn’t quite realize the words had left his mouth until they did, or that he actually _meant_ them. In fact, the thought of being in the same, hot bath with Loki sounded…pleasurable. Loki’s eyes lit up and he smiled a bright smile, offering his hand to Tony. Tony reached up, tentatively pulling himself to his feet, following Loki to the bathroom.

The tub was a large, round golden thing- it could easily fit five people- with jets in the sides that would shoot water out the sides. Loki turned on the hot water, delicious steam rising from its surface, and turned to Tony, asking,

“Undress me?” in a quiet tone. Tony simply nodded, walking forward and carefully removing each item. He knelt before Loki, carefully unlacing each boot and easing the god’s feet from them. Next, came the leather trousers, unlaced and gently pulled free as well. He stood, and Loki turned wordlessly for him, letting him undo the laces at the back of the shirt, keeping it together, before he undid the buttons at the bottom and the green silk fell off completely, leaving Loki standing there naked.

Tony was shocked, however, when _Loki_ went down on his knees and undressed Tony the same way Tony had just undressed him. The god’s hands were cool and gentle, fingertips resting on each item of clothing before he took it off, letting Tony know silently what he was doing next. It was mesmerizing, allowing the god to do this- undress him like _Tony_ was a god as well. He didn’t deserve this treatment, he knew it, but Loki wanted to do it and, in the back of his mind somewhere, Tony wanted him to as well. And it wasn’t as if he could tell the god no- he would surely get whipped, or worse, for that. _No_ good slave told their master no. It was just as bad as telling them off, or hitting them- perhaps even worse. It was a blatant refusal to do what was the job to do.

He was brought from his musings by a gentle hand on his lower back, leading him to the tub and into the delicious heat of the water. He sank into it with a silent groan of happiness, letting it soothe his sore muscles _(he was always sore, these days, and he wasn’t sure why- a constant ache in his back as if he’d, at one point, spent a lot of time bent over a desk or hunched over with a book)_. Loki slid in behind him, and Tony was much too shocked to do much of anything when the god pulled him back to rest against his chest, arms loosely wound around his waist.

“Is this alright?” the god asked quietly, and Tony nodded wordlessly because, strangely enough, _it was_. He was perfectly content here in his master’s arms, as if he were a pet and not a slave. It was nice. He felt…safe. Protected, as if nothing could ever hurt him.  

In fact, it was so nice that he didn’t quite realize he’d dozed off until he woke.

He panicked, of course, hoping Loki wasn’t angry and apologizing a dozen times, but Loki had assured him that he was quite the opposite of angry. Oh, and also, Loki had washed him while he was asleep and oddly, Tony found he was perfectly comfortable with that.

When they left the tub, Loki didn’t bother with towels- he simply dried them with magic and then suddenly they were wearing their night clothes.

And _then_ , after that wonderful, soothing bath with Loki, the god had shocked him again by gently laying him on the bed, stripping him of his shirt _(which, initially caused Tony to panic internally because this was it, but then it wasn’t it and that was okay)_ and rubbing warm oil on his palms before his strong, slim fingers found Tony’s back and pressed.

Oh, it was wonderful, the strength of Loki’s hands, the warmth of them, digging deep into aching muscles and working out every kink and knot he could find, until Tony was lose and pliant and completely boneless beneath him. Thumbs dug into his spine, his shoulders, his neck; fingers pressed into his temples, his scalp, gently massaging away the constant headache Tony hadn’t realized he’d had until it was gone.

Loose-limbed, blissed-out and completely lax, Loki gently maneuvered Tony until he was beneath the covers, before the god slid beneath them as well, carefully pulling Tony to rest against his chest where Tony had spent the past week cuddling up at night. It was comfortable for the both of them, holding and being held, and Tony was asleep in minutes, more relaxed and content than he could ever remember being.

Just before he drifted off, he heard Loki’s voice, barely a whisper;

“ _What_  am I going to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, these chapters seem to be getting shorter but- not a ton of action has been happening. So, sorry. But hey, at least this update didn't take a month or however long the last one did, yeah? And yes, there's a time jump but not much happened in those three and a half weeks or I would have written it. Also, we do get a lot of insight from Tony, and clearly he's grown much more comfortable in these weeks- I know it seems sort of unrealistic but hopefully the next chapter from Loki's POV will explain more. Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Trouble

The confrontation with Odin had been…rather draining. The rest of the day had gone by in a blur that he hadn’t really wished to pay any attention to whatsoever.

The next three weeks, however…well, those days, he paid attention to everything; whether it be Stark or himself.

When he’d first discovered Stark, Loki’s plan had been simple enough- build him and break him. After the events of New York, after having been so utterly humiliated, after having been punished so severely by what Odin deemed “Asgardian justice”, finding the one who had been the main cause of his troubles, trembling with fear on his knees, Loki had been overjoyed, completely filled with animalistic glee at seeing how low the mighty had fallen.   
Then.   
Then had come that pesky little thing, his conscience, giving him every reason it could that he shouldn’t follow through with his plan. It was ridiculous, really, that this pathetic little mortal was causing him so much grief. It should have been simple. It _would_ have been simple.

But then Odin had stepped in.

It was a mere five days after the King had given him permission of ownership, when the King had called him to the throne room.

“Yes, _father?_ ” Loki asked as he stepped inside, back straight and shoulders back, not even bothering with the proper bow as everyone else did.

“You are treating him well. Why? He is beneath you, Loki- we have already discussed what should be your courses of action if you are to keep him,” Odin said, single eye narrowed into a fierce glare, as if it were such a terrible thing, treating a person civilly _(even if his plans weren’t so civil)_.

“Because he is a person, just as you and I,” Loki replied with a shrug, unsure as to whether or not he said it simply to anger Odin, or if he actually meant it. Both, perhaps?

“No. He is a mortal and a Midgardian- and a slave, at that. You will treat him as I have told you to or he will be taken back and I will keep him to do with as I will.” And Odin proceeded to tell him, in gruesome detail, exactly what he’d done to the mortal and what Loki should do to the mortal. Whippings, beatings, humiliation and rape. That was Odin’s idea of justice. That was what he did to those he deemed “unworthy”, those he decided were beneath him.

Lastly, Odin told him with a disgusting smile what he had done to Stark when he’d caught the mortal using magic- a whipping that had rendered the mortal unable to walk for days, with the same heavy metal whip that had been used on Loki countless times before as a so-called “punishment”; it was torture, plain and simple, and if his time with Thanos had taught him but one thing, it was that he would never, _never_ use torture as a means to an end. Not after the Mad Titan had ripped apart his mind bit by bit until he’d begged, screamed and sobbed for it to end, told the titan he’d do anything. There were many things Loki had done and would do, but torture was not one.   
Not after Thanos.

When Loki had returned, fuming and pacing and angry beyond what he’d believed he was capable of, he’d thrown something at the mortal. Given, he hadn’t meant to, but whatever Stark had said had just added to the anger boiling in his gut, no matter how harmless.   
When the red had left his vision, he’d seen the poor thing cowering on the floor, eyes wide and fearful. It had brought an odd ache to Loki’s chest, something he had felt years ago, before Thanos, but he couldn’t quite remember. Something he vowed he’d never feel again.   
Something that felt, shockingly, like guilt.

Gazing at the mortal with saddened, not-guilty _(terrified, horrified, aching, but not guilty; it couldn’t be. Anything was better)_ eyes, he’d wrapped Tony up in his arms and assured him he’d done nothing wrong, that it had been Odin’s fault for how angry Loki had been, that Tony hadn’t ever done anything that could warrant such behavior on Loki’s part.   
It had taken an hour to calm the mortal, who had at once been near tears and begging but was now fast asleep in an exhausted slumber, curled into Loki’s chest with his fingers fisted in his shirt.

Loki had no idea how long he sat there after that, just holding the mortal and watching him sleep, watching the creases in his brow form and the parting of his lips as he sucked in a choked sounding breath, trying to flee his own personal demons but not knowing how when they were trapped in his own mind and he was unable to make sense of them; didn’t even remember them.

Oh a whim _(a dangerous, reckless whim)_ , Loki used what little magic he was able to squeeze past the damned collar- Mother had helped him with that, of course- he dipped into the mortal’s mind, trying to catch a glimpse of what hurt his mortal _(but no, Tony was not his and he would never acknowledge having said it so)_.

It hit him so suddenly that he hadn’t even been able to pull back before it overwhelmed him.

Pain like he’d never known before, sawing through skin, muscle and bone; agonized screaming somewhere far away _(unbeknownst to him, it was his own…no, no not his own…Tony’s)_ ; arms and hands, rough and unforgiving, holding him down; frayed rope biting into his skin, keeping him in place- somewhere in his mind _(in Tony’s mind)_ he knew thrashing would only make it worse but gods, it hurt…oh how it hurt; blood, too red, too much, soaking everything, making his body _(Tony’s body)_ slick and hard to keep a hold on; and somewhere, amidst it all, soft, pleased laughter, not registered at the time but in the nightmare it was certainly there, that one little detail that he’d never _(Tony had never)_ been able to grasp, never really noticed.   
But then he was drifting, the edges around his vision darkening, the pain never disappearing but fading until he realized it was _him_ who was fading, not everyone else and he fought it, oh how he did, but he couldn’t keep himself awake, but that was alright because with the darkness came the blissful touch of sleep, or perhaps death, but either way, he was content with how he would end.

When Loki had jerked himself free of Tony’s mind _(powerful, so much more powerful than Loki had ever dreamed; so much potential, so much fire…)_ he was shaking, sweat slicking his back, the remnants of phantom pain that wasn’t his still aching in his chest.

Loki wanted to find whoever had done this to his _(not his)_ mortal and tear them apart, limb by limb until the ground was coated in their blood and there was nothing left, not even a smidgeon of anything, to take credit or pride in what they did to Tony. They would be nothing but ash.

But no, this was not the plan. He found himself having to remind himself of that constantly. He was to build Tony up and break him back down, not disintegrate anyone who had ever laid a hand against Tony _(somehow forgetting that he, too, had harmed him…no, not forgetting, choosing to ignore)_. Harming _Stark_ was the plan. Because he was Stark, not Tony. Because Stark was the man who had ruined his plans _(not his, Thanos’s)_ in New York, and he hated Stark. Stark was the hero, the Man of Iron. Tony was the inventor. Tony was the slave. Tony was broken. Stark was not.

The day of firsts was about two weeks later, when he took T- Stark to the library. The mortal had been ecstatic, finding himself a couple of Midgardian books and Loki had teased him, telling him to be careful lest he outsmart Loki. The mortal had uttered a shy, soft laugh that Loki absolutely did not think was cute, and had practically bounced his way back home.

The day ended when Loki very quietly approached Tony while he was reading, sitting on the rug by the fire. Loki gently settled a hand on Stark’s shoulder, startling the poor mortal so badly that the book fell from his hands and to the floor with a loud slapping sound.  

“Easy, Tony, ‘tis but me,” Loki said with a calming smile and Stark curled his hands into fists, but Loki could still see their trembling.

“Have I done something wrong?” Stark asked when he saw Loki’s smile melt into a frown, panic edging into the mortals voice as he attempted to figure out what he’d done wrong.   
Loki should’ve been thrilled.   
He wasn’t.

“No. I was wondering if you might want a bath with me tonight.” Loki asked it quietly, hesitantly, shocked at the shyness of his own voice and refusing to acknowledge it. Stark froze, looking up at him with wide brown eyes.  

“W-with you, sire?” Stark asked in a shaking voice; he probably thought Loki was going to try to take advantage of him; that wouldn’t surprise him, really. Not after what the mortal had been through.  

“Yes, Tony. You do not have to if you do not want to; please, do not feel obligated to do anything.”

Loki didn’t like the disappointment that weighed down his chest one bit. He shouldn’t feel saddened over the fact that the mortal _(the one he was going to break, remember, Loki?)_ didn’t wish to _bathe_ with him. Norns, Loki wasn’t a child.

“No, no I’ll do it, Loki.” Stark seemed shocked after the words left his mouth, like he hadn’t realized he’d said them, and then looked even more surprised when he seemed to…mean them. Stark took Loki’s proffered hand, using it to pull himself to his feet, before Loki lead them to the bathroom and turned on the water, before asking, “Undress me?” in a quiet tone.

Tony simply nodded and did as he had done a hundred times before, taking each article of clothing off with gentle and efficient precision.   
Loki surprised himself when he _willingly_ _knelt before Tony_ to do the same. It seemed Tony was just as shocked; perhaps even more so. He tracked Loki’s ever movement with wide, surprised eyes in the same way Loki tracked his _own_ movements with wide, surprised eyes.

When he had finished undressing the mortal, he gently rested a hand on the small of his back and led him to the tub, letting the mortal settle himself in the water, smiling softly at the content groan, before settling in behind the mortal, pulling Tony back to his chest and letting his arms hang loosely around his waist.

“Is this alright?” he asked quietly, shocked at how dearly he hoped it would be and relieved beyond belief when Tony simply nodded and leaned back into him.

He was even more surprised _(which he hadn’t thought possible)_ when Tony dozed off in his arms, not even seeming to realize he had.

The mortal didn’t get his usual nightmares, seeming content in Loki’s arms _(he filed that away for later analyzing)_ though he panicked a bit when he woke some minutes later, a begging edge to his voice as he apologized over and over again.   
Loki rushed to assure him it was alright, before smiling reassuringly and leading Tony from the tub, drying them with magic and dressing them in night clothes.

Feeling rather brave, he stripped Tony of his shirt and pressed him into the bed gently before rubbing heated oil between his palms and setting to work on ridding Tony of all the tension he’d gained, digging his fingers into tightened knots of muscle, massaging until Tony was a boneless, content figure beneath him, half asleep already.

Pulling the mortal into his arms only seemed natural when he crawled into bed beside him, gazing down at the sleeping figure and for the first time _(or at least acknowledging he knew it for the first time)_ he realized he was completely and utterly fucked.

This was not the plan, this had never been the plan yet it seemed to have _become_ the plan. He was not falling for the mortal; he couldn’t be, yet he was.

Shaking his head as he gazed down at Tony, he whispered to himself,

“ _What_ am I going to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry these chapters have been so short but...it's something and we get to see just how royally screwed Loki is.   
> Also, he can't seem to decided what to call Tony...;)


	7. A New Day

Waking up, wrapped securely in Loki’s arms was…pleasant, to say the least. Unlike the first time, where he had nearly spiraled into a panic attack because he’d thought Loki was going to rape him. But this time, it was alright; enjoyable, even. He felt warm and safe; and safe was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Even better, however, gone from his back was the constant and terrible ache of his misused muscles.

Rolling over, he let his gaze roam the sleeping god who had taken him in; the sunlight was streaming in through the open door to the balcony, illuminating Loki in soft golden light, softening his features even more than they were softened from sleep. It was odd how innocent the other looked like this, the stress lines from around his mouth and eyes melting into nonexistence, his body loose-limbed and relaxed; no longer tense, as it always was.

His dark hair fanned out against the cream colored pillow, and Tony was close enough that he could count each dark, long individual eyelash if he so pleased _(he already had; there were one hundred and thirty two on his left upper lid)_. He was a lithe, strong body carved from granite and he was beautiful, something Tony never dreamed he would ever have. Of course, he supposed, it _was_ the other way around; Loki had _him_ , but he couldn’t deny it anymore than he could deny Loki’s favorite color was green. Loki was his just as much as he was Loki’s.

The gold of the collar glinted sharply in the sunlight, a shocking contrast to the soft curves and strong lines of muscle that made up Loki’s body. Not for the first time, Tony wondered what it was for.   
Daring to reach out, he gently ran his fingertips across the runes etched into it, memorizing them and storing them away in his memory _(he could find books on them in the library if Loki allowed him again)_.

He didn’t realize how long he’d been sitting there, staring mesmerized at the collar, until he looked up at Loki’s face and saw the god staring at him with those smiling green eyes of his. Still, Tony startled badly and yanked his hand back as if it had been burned, mumbling a plethora of apologies.

“It’s quite alright, Tony,” Loki said with a soft, sad smile.

“Can I…I mean, may I…inquire what it’s for?” Tony asked hesitantly, unsure if it was personal or not, if he even had a right to ask.

“Of course. It is…simply put, it ensures I cannot use my magic.”

Tony’s eyes widened slightly; he had yet to learn to control his magic, yet he knew, in no uncertain terms, that his magic was _his_. It was a part of him, and to be blocked from that…he shuddered.

“It must be awful,” he murmured softly, and Loki nodded. “Does it…can it come off?”

“’Only in the hands of the righteous man’,” Loki said, sounding as if he were repeating something from memory. “’whose touch gives redemption to that who becomes worthy of it; may they remove what ought not be removed otherwise’.”

Tony frowned but nodded in understanding, before hesitating and asking in confusion,

“Why must you seek redemption?”

Loki was quiet for a moment, seeming to be trying to find a way to correctly phrase his words, which was more than a little odd because the god had never needed time to do that; he was the Silvertongued Liesmith, after all.

“I…made quite a mistake. I attacked a realm that had no hope of fighting back…or that I had thought had no hope of fighting back. I was beaten by a group of mix-and-match heroes. However, my actions were not entirely voluntary. I was controlled by the Mad Titan, a man whom I hope you never encounter, who gave me an army as long as I could supply him with what it was he’d sent me to get.”

Something tickled at the back of Tony’s mind, something that said he should be familiar with this story, that he _was_ familiar with this story, which was more than a little strange because this was something he’d never heard before…even if it felt like he _had_ heard it before. No, it was more than having been told. It seemed like…it almost seemed like he’d _lived_ it, even if he couldn’t explain why.

“Who were these heroes?” Tony asked, intrigued. He couldn’t even be bothered with his usual hesitancy.   
However, it was Loki who was hesitant now. Careful. Closed off and cautious.

“There were six of them. The first, the leader, went by the name Captain America; the super solider, the man out of time. Engineered in a lab, created, given his qualities through a serum, though I suspect his patriotism and morals were always his own. The next, the Black Widow; the trained assassin, with her sharp tongue and quick limbs; and her pet, the Hawk or Hawkeye, whose precision is more than impressive and his humor hard pressed even in the best of times…he uses arrows, however, whereas the Widow uses electricity. The Hulk, a green beast disguised in the skin of a even-tempered, soft-hearted scientist; gamma radiation, I was told. Thor,” and this time, there was bitterness in the god’s voice. “the almighty God of Thunder, too stubborn for his own good. And the last, the greatest hero of all though I don’t suspect he knew it; the Man of Iron; Ironman, the genius billionaire hero who flew around in a red and gold suit of metal.

He wasn’t the subtlest of people, I’m sure you can guess. He went through hardships no other should have had to face; he was tortured into what should have been submission, but what turned him into a hero instead. He built himself a suit of armor from a box of scraps in an Afghan cave and he blew his captors to bits. He built himself a new metal heart, much like yours…” Loki trailed off, gently tapping his fingertips against the metal of the light in his chest. “And he used it to destroy those who harmed him completely. He was dark and he was dangerous and he was the brightest of them all. A genius, the brightest, most intelligent and witty mind I’d ever had the pleasure of coming across. He turned his pain and suffering into a weapon, a suit of armor, and fought his way out of the dark path he’d fallen down. He became the world’s hero, as he should have been. You see, my dear Anthony, he was the only true hero of them all.”

The tickling Tony had felt in the back of his mind turned into an all-encompassing ache, a throb in the center of his mind that seemed to radiate outward. He distantly heard himself gasp before the pain, the agony tore through his entire body; his back arched, his limbs stiffened. He thought he heard a scream, and it might have been his but he wasn’t sure. A voice, calling his name, hands shaking his shoulders. Images danced before his open, unseeing eyes; a young boy whose father never loved him, a funeral for three- Maria, Howard and Edwin; dozens of empty and half empty bottles filled with heavy liquor; three one-armed robots whirring around the lab, one holding a fire extinguisher, one a smoothie and another a broom; a British sounding, metallic voice asking what it was he needed; a gentle, feminine voice saying “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” belonging to a beautiful redheaded woman with deep blue eyes; an explosion and agony in his chest as someone cut away at his sternum; light, blinding and painful in his eyes; a metal suit and an old man bleeding out on old burlap sacks, telling him not to waste his life; more explosions and a crash landing in the desert, soon being found by someone who hugged him tight like his life depended on it, telling him that next time he’d ride with him; an old balding man, extracting something glowing and metal from his chest…  
_I am Ironman…  
_ ….a group of mix-and-match heroes, meeting for the first time on a flying metal ship…  
_I am Ironman…  
_ ….an insane God wreaking havoc, whose eyes were blue as the cube he’d stolen…  
_I am Ironman…_  
….a drink, he’d offered him a drink and then been thrown off the balcony…  
_I am Ironman…  
_ ….an army, a wormhole and a nuke; the army had been destroyed and now he’s falling, falling, falling….  
_I am Ironman…_  
….men wearing armor and carrying swords, stealing him away, forcing him to kneel in front of a man with a single golden eye-patch; “You will be mine, Anthony Stark,” is what he says before the pain starts but he can’t pass out, he can’t remember, he can’t…  
_I am Ironman. I am Ironman. I am Ironman. I am…_

And in that moment, Tony Stark remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's really short but...hey! Plot happened!


	8. Part II

Tony Stark remembers.

And Tony Stark is fucking _furious_.  

But also a little scared, confused, and intimidated.

But mostly confused.   
Because Stark men don’t get scared. He remembers that, too.

Everything aches, when he first comes to. After The Awakening, he was left in a panting, sweating heap, trying to make sense of everything that was running through his mind. His head throbbed painfully in time with each new memory that he recalled, but gods, he _remembered_. He remembered who he was, what he was and…and _where_ he was.   
And that was wrapped up in the arms of a god who tried to enslave an entire planet, staring at the ceiling with the number 473 running through his mind _(that’s how many cracks there were in the breaking granite ceiling; he’d wondered many times whether the place was going to fall down on top of them)_.  It was grounding, the numbers, the one truly _familiar_ thing in the upside down world.

And then reality caught up, and before he really knew what he was doing, he was tumbling out of Loki’s arms, to the floor with a painful thud, glaring daggers at the god in front of him and ignoring the fact that he was clad only in loose, red silk bottoms that he supposed passed for pajamas here. Loki was in something similar, only he himself was wearing green.

“What the _hell_ did you do to me?” he hissed, shoving years worth of anger and suffering into that one sentence.

 _It wasn’t all suffering_ , that annoying little voice in his head nagged.

He ignored it.

“Anthony-” Loki began, but was quickly cut off.

“No! I don’t want to hear your bullshit lies, or your twisted tales, or your god awful riddles. I want to hear the _truth_ , Loki! I want to know what you _did_ to me! Why didn’t I remember until now? Why did King Assface turn me into a fucking _slave_? Why now? And most of all, why the _fuck_ did you help me?”

The look Tony got in return for his little outburst was…well, more than a little scary, barely less than murderous and pure _loathing_. But Tony had spent the past weeks with the god. He knew the signs now; when he was lying, when he was hiding behind his perfect little façade, when he didn’t want anyone to know he _cares_. Tony didn’t notice before, not when he didn’t have a mind of his own, but now he’s able to put the pieces together, now he _knows_ Loki. And because of that? Loki is fucked.

“Do you need me to remind you of your place, mortal?” Loki growled, standing at his full height and stalking over- which, yes, intimidating even in ridiculous silk pants and the literal _golden colored_ tunic.   
Tony straightened up and snarled in the god’s face.

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ , should I bend over and present myself now, _Your Majesty_?” The flinch he earned from that was totally worth the newly brought look of murder in the god’s eyes.

“Do not accuse me of that, Stark. Anything, but not that.” The tone was deadly serious, brooking no room for argument and hiding hurt behind the mask.

Taking a deep breath, Tony calmed his fraying _(frayed, broken, torn apart)_ nerves and stepped back from the god.

“Just answer the damn questions,” Tony said instead, as civilly as he could manage whilst his broken mind rushed to try and put itself back together again.

Loki took a deep, calming breath as he looked like he was preparing to answer, passing his hands through his hair and tugging slightly before saying,

“I cannot tell you everything it is you wish to know. I can, however, say that I personally have done nothing to you. This, whatever it was, was all the work of the AllFather. I assume you do not remember because of some spell the AllFather cast to make it so; it would have been easier. He gave himself a fresh canvas to work with. As for why I helped…well. Purely selfish reasons, I assure you.”

“What were those reasons, Rudolph?” Tony asked, narrowing his eyes. Loki stared at him for a moment, dozens of emotions flashing through those green irises too fast to count, before his face closed off into that impassive mask again.

“At first, it was because I wished to break you. You were alone, scared, confused and hurt. You had already fallen so far; I figured I would give you an out, someone you could trust, someone who made you happy again, and then I would rip myself away from you, hurt you in ways even the AllFather couldn’t. It was going to be glorious.”

Tony’s fingers clenched into fists against his will, but he remained calm, staring at Loki’s unreadable face.

“And then?” he prompted evenly.

“And then something changed. I’m…not entirely sure what it was, or when it happened, but the fact is…” Loki shook his head, began again. “You have a gift, Anthony; you change things, people, without even seeming to realize it. You make the good come out, something I had not thought possible for someone like me. You show people other paths, you save the damned…it’s strange, really, how much you’re able to do without realizing you’re doing anything at all.” The confession was quiet, muttered in an unsure voice despite the god’s face being impressively impassive and calm; cool, as if he were talking about the weather.   
Tony’s mind whirred as he searched for signs of deception but…but there were none. That, combined with what Loki had told him about _himself (not that he’d known it at the time)_ before The Awakening…it made perfect sense. Not that Loki had abruptly decided to be a better person. No, what actually made sense _(scarily enough)_ was that Tony had been the one to decide for him, even if it wasn’t a conscious decision.

“ _I changed you…_ ” Tony said slowly and when the god simply nodded, Tony stepped closer. “Loki,” he asked quietly, the calm in his own voice no longer strained and forced. “Do you…have you…Rudolph, do you _love_ me?” After that, it wouldn’t be entirely out of the blue. In fact, Tony was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

“I didn’t, not at first.”

“That’s not an answer, Bambi.”

“It very well is, Anthony-”

“Loki!” Tony snapped, cutting the god off.

Loki swallowed heavily, Adams apple bobbing as he did so. He went quiet for a moment, perhaps trying to formulate an answer, before sighing and nodding.

“Yes, Anthony. I believe I have fallen in love with you.”

Tony didn’t say anything to that. Pretended instead that he didn’t see the honesty and hope in Loki’s eyes. The desperation. The longing. Pretended he didn’t see any of the love Loki had just proffered as Tony reached his hands up, gently settling his fingertips along the collar, fingers finding the very small, fingerprinted locking mechanism in the back.

Praying, hoping he was right, he gently placed his thumb where it was supposed to go and held his breath, gazing at the golden collar instead of at Loki’s eyes, which he could feel boring into him. He ignored Loki’s hands coming to settle on his hips, the heat of Loki’s breath on his skin.

Instead, he stared intently at the collar and willed it to open, each second that was creeping by bringing with it the heavy sense of dread in his gut, making breathing difficult.

And then.

Then, the golden collar popped open and fell into Tony’s trembling hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, these past few chapters are short, but the next chapter should be longer!


	9. Discovered

Loki awoke to the feeling of prying eyes.

But when he opened his own and found himself with an armful of Anthony Stark, he was rather satisfied. Not that he planned on admitting that _any_ time soon, but Anthony did have a certain charm about him, even if he hadn’t a clue as to who he was. Perhaps Loki wasn’t sure anymore, either. This man, the mortal with the inquiring, curious eyes full of unabashed trust; with his wide, shy smile and his thin but still muscled golden body and his inventor’s hands.

When Anthony caught himself being watched, he startled badly, mouth opening to spew a plethora of apologies but Loki quickly beat him to it.

“It’s quite alright, Tony,” he said with a soft, sad smile.

“Can I…I mean, may I…inquire what it’s for?” the mortal asked quietly, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he was allowed…it was a giant leap forward, however, that he was even asking for something.

“Of course. It is…simply put, it ensures I cannot use my magic.”

Anthony’s eyes widened comically and the idea of being blocked from magic seemed to sicken him; of course, the man wouldn’t know what it was like, but Loki was sure he could imagine, given he still has his own- barely restrained- magic.

“It must be awful,” Anthony murmured softly and Loki nodded, feeling a pang in his chest at the man’s sympathy.  “Does it…can it come off?”

“’Only in the hands of the righteous man’,” Loki replied robotically, the words flowing easily with how many times he’d heard them. “’whose touch gives redemption to that who becomes worthy of it; may they remove what ought not be removed otherwise’.”

Tony frowned but nodded in understanding, before hesitating and asking in confusion,

“Why must you seek redemption?”

Loki was quiet for a moment, attempting to find the correct way to tell the mortal…anything, really. He tried to come up with a lie, tried to cover for himself lest Anthony hate him _(and surely he would)_ , tried to get his Silvertongue to work for him, but to no avail. Before he could stop himself, words spewed from his lips and once they started, there was no stopping them.

“I…made quite a mistake. I attacked a realm that had no hope of fighting back…or that I had thought had no hope of fighting back. I was beaten by a group of mix-and-match heroes. However, my actions were not entirely voluntary. I was controlled by the Mad Titan, a man whom I hope you never encounter, who gave me an army as long as I could supply him with what it was he’d sent me to get.”

He wasn’t sure why he was telling the mortal this; all he knew was that he was and that there was no way to back track, now. He would have to explain himself one way or another; best it be on his terms in his own free will.

“Who were these heroes?” Anthony asked, sounding intrigued; not his usual caution and Loki was intrigued himself, but mostly amazed, that a man who had once been so broken had managed to piece himself back together enough that he could speak freely like this. This was something of the old Anthony, the one who created and asked questions and let his calloused inventor’s hands run free and his mind flow wildly about. This? This was the Tony Stark Loki had fought in New York. This was the man who had caught the mind and heart of a god.  

“There were six of them. The first, the leader, went by the name Captain America; the super solider, the man out of time. Engineered in a lab, created, given his qualities through a serum, though I suspect his patriotism and morals were always his own. The next, the Black Widow; the trained assassin, with her sharp tongue and quick limbs; and her pet, the Hawk or Hawkeye, whose precision is more than impressive and his humor hard pressed even in the best of times…he uses arrows, however, whereas the Widow uses electricity. The Hulk, a green beast disguised in the skin of an even-tempered, soft-hearted scientist; gamma radiation, I was told. Thor,” and this time, Loki couldn’t stop the bitterness in his own voice, couldn’t help the longing and sadness, disguised it as hate instead. “the almighty God of Thunder, too stubborn for his own good. And the last, the greatest hero of all though I don’t suspect he knew it; the Man of Iron; Ironman, the genius billionaire hero who flew around in a red and gold suit of metal.

He wasn’t the subtlest of people, I’m sure you can guess. He went through hardships no other should have had to face; he was tortured into what should have been submission, but what turned him into a hero instead. He built himself a suit of armor from a box of scraps in an Afghan cave and he blew his captors to bits. He built himself a new metal heart, much like yours…” Loki trailed off, gently tapping his fingertips against the metal of the light in Anthony’s chest. “And he used it to destroy those who harmed him completely. He was dark and he was dangerous and he was the brightest of them all. A genius, the brightest, most intelligent and witty mind I’d ever had the pleasure of coming across. He turned his pain and suffering into a weapon, a suit of armor, and fought his way out of the dark path he’d fallen down. He became the world’s hero, as he should have been. You see, my dear Anthony, he was the only true hero of them all.”

Anthony was quiet and for a moment, Loki only thought he was processing what he’d been told but…no, there was something in the man’s unfocused gaze, something awed and confused, something suspiciously like _remembrance_ , but Loki didn’t have much time to ponder this before Anthony tipped his head back and let out an agonized scream, limbs straightening and stiffening, back arching painfully, eyes wide and open but shimmering and unfocused, darting back and forth as if he were sifting through information that only he could see.

Loki couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt fear like this as he called Anthony’s name; it shot through him, boiling low in his gut and making him feel like he was being turned inside out, like something had its fist round his heart and was squeezing as tightly as possible. Dread like no other washed through him as he watched Anthony convulse on the bed, golden-white light shimmering around him and Loki noted it distantly, as if he were looking through a fog.

 _It’s a spell unraveling_ , he realized and in that moment, he understood what he had done; what he’d, perhaps, been trying to do all along.

A gentle, mumbled mantra of words spilled from Anthony’s lips, repeated over and over again.

“I am Ironman…I am Ironman…I am Ironman…” he chanted, eyes glassy and still darting about in his head.

What felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than minutes later, the convulsing stopped and Anthony collapsed back onto the bed, panting heavily and struggling to get a breath in. But slowly, oh so slowly, the glassy look faded from his eyes, replaced by disbelief and confusion.

At some point, he wasn’t sure when, Loki had dragged the mortal into his arms and held him close, cradled him, but all the peace that came after was washed away when Anthony scrambled from his arms and tumbled to the floor.

“What the _hell_ did you do to me?” Anthony hissed, years of anger and pain drowning out the fear in his voice.

 “Anthony-” Loki began, a weak attempt to fix whatever it was they’d had, to get it back, but he was quickly cut off.

“No! I don’t want to hear your bullshit lies, or your twisted tales, or your god awful riddles. I want to hear the _truth_ , Loki! I want to know what you _did_ to me! Why didn’t I remember until now? Why did King Assface turn me into a fucking _slave_? Why now? And most of all, why the _fuck_ did you help me?”

So Loki did what he was good at, pulled up his perfected façade and projected absolute _loathing_ at the man, as if that alone could turn Anthony away, as if he could save himself before he was hurt.

“Do you need me to remind you of your place, mortal?” Loki growled, standing at his full height and stalking over, knowing just how he looked despite the night clothes he was clad in.

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ , should I bend over and present myself now, _Your Majesty_?” Loki flinched, eyes widening in horror before he schooled his expression back into the practiced “I intend to murder you now” look.

“Do not accuse me of that, Stark. Anything, but not that.” His tone was deadly serious, brooking no room for argument and hiding hurt behind the mask.

Anthony took a deep breath, as if he might shake apart, and said,

“Just answer the damn questions.”

Loki took a deep, calming breath of his own as he passed both of his hands through his hair, a nervous gesture he _really_ needed to stop.

“I cannot tell you everything it is you wish to know. I can, however, say that I personally have done nothing to you. This, whatever it was, was all the work of the AllFather. I assume you do not remember because of some spell the AllFather cast to make it so; it would have been easier. He gave himself a fresh canvas to work with. As for why I helped…well. Purely selfish reasons, I assure you.” Which was…not entirely untrue, really. They _had_ been selfish reasons, probably still were; why else would he be trying so hard to save himself from the torture of losing the man he’d fallen in l-

“What were those reasons, Rudolph?” Anthony asked, staring at him with narrowed eyes as Loki scrambled to get his thoughts back under control.

“At first, it was because I wished to break you. You were alone, scared, confused and hurt. You had already fallen so far; I figured I would give you an out, someone you could trust, someone who made you happy again, and then I would rip myself away from you, hurt you in ways even the AllFather couldn’t. It was going to be glorious.”

 _It hurt_ , he realized. Admitting that _hurt_. Admitting that he’d planned on harming Anthony hurt, and he wasn’t sure he could take much more of this, much more of the judgment in Anthony’s eyes, much more of the hate even though he knew, he _knew_ he deserved it-

 “And then?” Anthony prompted evenly, calmly, despite the emotions raging behind those dark irises. Even so out of practice, the mortal was painfully good at hiding his emotions. Seemed Loki wasn’t the only one with a mask.

“And then something changed. I’m…not entirely sure what it was, or when it happened, but the fact is…” Loki shook his head, began again. “You have a gift, Anthony; you change things, people, without even seeming to realize it. You make the good come out, something I had not thought possible for someone like me. You show people other paths, you save the damned…it’s strange, really, how much you’re able to do without realizing you’re doing anything at all.” He confessed it quietly, but kept his façade impassive and calm, giving nothing away, no room for analyzing on the mortals part; Anthony wouldn’t know, couldn’t know that he had been the one to save Loki, not so easily, never so easily, never at all…

“ _I changed you…_ ” Anthony said slowly as understanding dawned and when Loki nodded wordlessly, Anthony took a step closer. “Loki,” the mortal asked quietly, the calm in his voice no longer strained and forced. “Do you…have you…Rudolph, do you _love_ me?”

Norns, Loki _knew_ Anthony knew the answer already, knew the mortal just wanted to hear him say it so he could use it against him, could laugh, could tell him he could _never_ love a _monster_ ….

“I didn’t, not at first.”

“That’s not an answer, Bambi.”

He was right- it really wasn’t the answer; at least, not the one the mortal was looking for. He could try, though. He _would_ try,

“It very well is, Anthony-”

“Loki!” Anthony snapped, patience wearing thin- of course, Loki had somehow forgotten that Anthony was a genius, ahead of his time, that Anthony wouldn’t take anything from anyone so long as he didn’t feel he didn’t have to.  

Loki swallowed heavily, Adams apple bobbing as he did so. He was quiet for a moment, debating, because he very well knew the answer, he just wasn’t sure he could admit it; to Anthony _or_ himself.

Taking a deep breath, he made his decision and spoke before he could change his mind.

“Yes, Anthony. I believe I have fallen in love with you.”

Anthony was quiet and Loki felt the pain, the desperation, the longing that he’d been trying to protect himself from, felt it all come crashing in like he’d just run into a brick wall-

-but then, then Anthony’s hands were moving to the golden collar wrapped round Loki’s throat, the mortal’s breath held, his eyes focusing only on his goal. Taking a risk, Loki let his hands find Anthony’s hips, settle comfortably there as if they belonged there and he couldn’t help but feeling they did.

The mortal smelled like himself again, somehow, as if those memories were what was keeping him from truly being himself even if he’d thought he had been- he smelled like motor oil and shampoo and the air after rainfall.

Anthony stared at the collar with single-mindedness only he could manage, deep eyes boring into it as if he could will it to open and Loki allowed himself a moments hope but quickly squashed it back down, knowing it wouldn’t work; couldn’t work, because Loki could never redeem himself, he was a _monster_ , how could he-

And then.

Then, the golden collar popped open and fell into Anthony’s trembling, waiting hands.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, okay. Um. It's been a while, sorry about that. I've had a lot of stuff to do. SAT last week, working on essays, the WinterIron Bang- even though that's not for a while, I had an idea that I had to get out and get down- so, yeah. Sorry. But this chapter is longer than the past few so yay! Enjoy!


	10. First Time

Tony stared down at the collar in shock, Loki’s words echoing in his head.

_“’Only in the hands of the righteous man whose touch gives redemption to that who becomes worthy of it; may they remove what ought not be removed otherwise’.”_

Honestly, it didn’t surprise him as much as it should have.

What with everything Loki had just told him, it wasn’t entirely unexpected. What _really_ was unexpected, though, was the whole “righteous man” shtick, because there were many words to describe Tony, and righteous certainly wasn’t one of them.  
As it happened, Loki looked just as shocked as he felt he should be, so he supposed it was alright; the god hadn’t expected the collar to come off either, so he obviously knew Tony was in no way, shape or form “righteous”.

But then.

Then there was a deep, emerald green, shimmering light spreading from Loki’s fingertips, along his arms, to his shoulders…moving and covering until Loki was surrounded and Tony was forced to take a step back, lest he be blinded by the golden undertone it had. He could feel the raw power and energy swirling around the air, surging out from Loki in waves, so overpowering Tony almost couldn’t breathe with the force of it; couldn’t even _imagine_ how the god was dealing with it all.

Tony heard laughing, veering dangerously close to full on giggling; there was no malice or ill-intent in the sound, thought; only pure and honest happiness, with a bit of hysterical glee thrown in.

When the light began fading from behind Tony’s closed eyelids, he hesitantly opened one eye, and then the other, blinking away the spots that clouded his vision, lips parting slightly at the sight that greeted him.

It was as if Loki was an entirely different person, or maybe this was who the god _really_ was; Loki’s eyes were glowing green, the same color as his magic, though that was slowly fading. He seemed…prouder, now. His back was straight, shoulders squared, chin held high…no longer the quietly seething, angry god he was before; or perhaps he still was, but now he seemed like he had a plan, and maybe that was what Tony had been waiting for.

“You seem…different,” Tony absently commented.

“Oh, Anthony,” Loki replied with a slow smile. “I am.”

Before he knew what was happening, Loki’s hands were cupping his cheeks, pulling him close; Loki’s lips were on his, warm and inviting and so fucking soft. He didn’t know what surprised him more; the fact that Loki had kissed him, or that he was _kissing back_.

His body was running purely on autopilot now, arms winding around Loki’s neck, pressing the entire length of his body up against the cool one of the gods, and really, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted this or needed this or both, and maybe he was thinking too much, but then Loki’s tongue was working its way past his lips and he wasn’t thinking _at all_.

Of course, that’s when everything went to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very, very short update and the long wait, but this is leading into the next chapter which will be from Tony's point of view again, just longer


	11. Fury

Tony wasn’t in his right mind, too focused on the fact that Loki was _here_ , and Loki was _alive_ , and Loki was not _imprisoned_ , and that Loki was _kissing him_ and more so the fact that he was _kissing back_. So his mind was a little overridden, otherwise he might have heard the telltale sign of a door being unlocked at his back.   
As it was, he _didn’t_ , so when someone was grabbing his arms and yanking them behind his back with much more force than was strictly necessary…well, he was too surprised to do anything more than gape at Loki, breathing heavily.

Loki seemed to be in the same state of shock he was, but then the guards were grabbing _his_ arms too, chaining them behind him and Tony’s eyes narrowed as he yanked at his arms in a vain attempt to free himself.

“Let me go!” he all but screamed, honestly surprised that he hadn’t ripped his arms from their sockets.

“Anthony! Calm yourself!” Loki snapped, smoldering eyes settling themselves on Tony.

“I am _not_ going to be that assholes slave again, Loki,” he snapped right back, and the god’s face softened slightly before he shook his head and that sharp edge came back.

“I do not _care_ what becomes of you, Anthony, but you will _not_ make this worse for me!”

Where the hell did _that_ come from?

No, no, he would’ve been able to tell he was being played. He would have. Right? Of course he would have; there hadn’t been any signs of it, not really. Loki could have killed him or thrown him out of another window; he didn’t have to kiss him, or comfort him, or hug him. He didn’t have to take him in. But…but Loki was the _Liesmith_ , he was the fucking _God of Lies_. It was entirely possible that… _no_. No, there had been something in that kiss. So Loki had to have had a plan, and that meant Tony needed to play along.

“Well _I_ certainly care, asshat!” he snarled, glaring at the god for all he was worth, who seemed to be taken aback by the turn of events, but Tony saw the flash in Loki’s eyes, knew he had been right.

Before the god could reply, they were being dragged away, towards the all too familiar golden doors that led to Odin’s throne room. He, of all people, knew that this was _not_ a place you wanted to be, let alone dragged to with your arms chained behind your back.

It was just as glorified as he remembered it…perhaps even more so, as now it had the intent of scaring both Tony _and_ a god…but this time around, Tony was having none of it.   
God, Odin had even changed the _lighting_ , and if that wasn’t desperate, Tony wasn’t sure what was.

And, in the midst of it all sat Odin in his high backed golden chair, Gungir held proudly in his right hand, single eye narrowed on what was probably supposed to be a fear inducing glare but only elicited a snort from both the God of Mischief and the former slave.

“This is a little over the top, don’t you think?” Tony asked as he gazed around at the newly refurbished throne room.   
Odin remained silent, keeping his steely glare on them and deep down, Tony knew he should be scared, should watch his mouth or just stay _quiet_ , but he was so far past caring now that it wasn’t even funny.

“You dare-” Odin began, but was cut off by Tony, whose mouth now seemed to be moving of its own accord, allowing no time for his brain to catch up, or perhaps make a very firm stop to the words flowing freely from his mouth.

“You’ll have to be more specific. There’s been a lot going on these past few months, as I’m sure you’re _well_ aware, what with the spying and whatnot.”

He could feel Loki’s gaze on his back, questioning, but he could only hope he was right; he’d seen the raven a couple of times, but in his addled mind, he’d never given it a second thought.

“You dare speak to me this way, mortal? I should have you whipped for your lack of respect,” Odin growled lowly and Tony huffed.

“Been there, done that, not gonna work this time around.” He shrugged. “But that’s just me. Not sure what to do about Prancer over there, but…” He tilted his head slightly. “I’m sure you’ve got this whole planned out and really, that’s great good for you, a man with a plan. I’ve always admired that, but there’s just something about you that’s got me all…” He rolled his head on his shoulders. “Eh…let’s just say off. I mean, I can’t even muster up enough strength to _care_ at the moment, but I think that’s mostly your fault, what with your mind-bending magic and whatnot. That’s pretty clever, I’ll admit, but I’ve never been a big fan of _clever_. Now, devious? Genius? Mischievous? Now we’re talking, but I can’t quite bring myself to respect a man whose first and only goal is to make those he deems _below him_ suffer, but you seem to have your work cut out for you, given whom it is you’re dealing with-” The punch to the gut, though blindingly painful, was unsurprising.

“You believe you have the right to insult me in my ways? To use that tongue of yours to spin tales you know nothing about? Perhaps I should have you muzzled, as I did him.” Odin raised his chin in Loki’s direction, and Loki’s jaw clenched but he made no move to argue, to even open his mouth to speak and Tony knew that the god had learned what happened when you spoke out of turn but then, so did Tony. So maybe there was something else going on in that brilliant mind of his or maybe he was more focused on finding a way out of this. But then those green eyes were meeting his and he _understood_.

He was the distraction.

He’d always been good at that.

“You kinky bastard,” Tony went on full force as soon as he’d caught the breath to do so. “As I was saying, you really seem to have forgotten whom you’re dealing with; we both like to blow things up, we both like dramatics and really, All-Daddy, all this gold? Melts pretty damn easily and believe me, I would know. I work with metal, y’know? So why you thought bringing an inventor into a room full of metal is beyond me, especially an inventor with a magnet in his chest. Well, that’s the simple way of explaining it, so take from that what you will. But, you see, I’m a genius, and it seems you haven’t gotten the memo that you don’t mess with a genius, especially me. People who do that typically end up in splattered on the wall but hey, kudos to you for trying.” When he caught the nod from Loki, though, he slowed down a bit, a wicked smile stretching his lips. “You, however, made one mistake; a very large, very damaging mistake. You see, Odin, I’ve got my mind back, and Loki’s got his magic back, and that? That’s all we’ve ever really needed.”

Tony could see it, the realization dawning in Odin’s eyes, the anger, the burning fury and all Tony could do was laugh as his chains broke and the suit enveloped him with a flash of green in Loki’s direction.

He didn’t understand it; why the suit was here, what Loki had done, how he was free but all he knew was that it felt _damn_ good to be inside the suit again.

“Daddy’s home, Jarv. You miss me?” he asked with a grin as he fired up the repulsors.

“Unimaginably so, sir,” Jarvis replied in that sharp, cultured voice of his, familiar in all the best ways.

“Let’s leave ‘em with somethin’ to think about, okay?”

“It would be my absolute pleasure, sir,” Jarvis said, a harder tone to his voice and yeah, Jarvis was _very_ protective of his creator: no doubt, Odin had hell coming his way and that was just from the AI, not including what he was going to get from Tony and Loki.

“Do what you’ve gotta do, Jarv.”

The next few minutes passed quickly, with lots of explosions, both from weapons and magic, furious shouts and a couple of terrified screams _(those came from the guards when suddenly eight different metal suits were after them)_ and Tony still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but boy had Jarvis done a number; everything was on fire, that was the first thing he noticed when things calmed down _(yeah, he was right; the gold_ had _melted pretty easily)_ and Odin was standing in the midst of it all, wide eyed and angry, Gungir held tightly in one white-knuckled grip.

Tony’s eyes, however, immediately sought out the person he _actually_ cared about, sought out Loki.   
And there the god was in all his unabashed glory, eyes glowing green with power, magic dancing about his fingertips and if there was one thing Tony was absolutely sure of in that moment, it was that Loki had never been so absolutely _terrifying_ , and that anyone suffering his wrath should cower.

“You-” Odin began, spitting the words at them.

“Dare? Fuck yeah, All-Daddy; we dare.”

And then hell erupted once more, a battle of epic proportions between himself and Loki, and the King of Asgard.

Everything was going fine and dandy- no, everything was perfect- fire blazing everything in its path, the repulsors absolutely demolishing the guards that attempted to cut in…it seemed to be Jarvis’s single-minded goal to tear this place to the ground, and Tony was more than happy with that, totally on board with the plan- but then everything wasn’t fine, as he heard a sharp but unmistakably familiar cry from the one he’d fallen in love with, from his god.

His eyes flew about, searching through the firefight to see Gungir pierced through Loki’s abdomen and in that moment, his world shattered and red clouded his vision.

With a furious _(agonized)_ roar, he turned his attention to the King of Asgard and charged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, I'm sorry this was so late. I haven't been home for the past three weeks, and then my grandma passed away, and everything's been hectic. So also sorry for the shitty chapter but I owed you guys something! Let me know what you think! Also, YAY, i made it to 200 Kudos!


	12. Savior

Anthony’s lips were on his, and he wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened, but he knew it was so brilliantly beautiful, something he’d been longing for, for quite some time, even if he hadn’t really known it.

It was incredible, really, how Anthony kissed.

Because he kissed like molten lava, all blazing heat and slow destruction. He kissed like a hurricane, breaking through everything keeping him out and away, tearing down Loki’s defenses and leaving him raw and aching for more, for less, because it was too much yet not enough. He kissed like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do, like every moment in his life had been leading up to this single moment, like time itself had stopped to give them what they needed.

All too soon, however, Anthony was being torn away, his hands shoved and chained behind his back as Odin’s guards poured into the room, leaving Loki raw and wired, gazing dumbly at Anthony as he tried to control himself, to keep at least a shred of dignity.

Anthony, however, seemed to be in a mild state of shock, kiss-swollen lips red and slightly parted, hair mussed in completely debauched mess, pupils dilated enough to make his eyes seem black with lust and…and something else that Loki didn’t dare call love because if there was one thing worse than hope, it was false hope.

“Let me go!” Anthony screamed suddenly, trying valiantly to pry himself from the guards’ grasp, managing to rattle them badly enough that they almost slipped from the ferocity of the attack.  

“Anthony! Calm yourself!” Loki snapped, narrowing his eyes in a glare despite the fear he could see buried deep in Anthony’s eyes; Loki wasn’t even sure Anthony was aware of it- he vowed then and there that he wouldn’t allow Odin to take Anthony back in his grasp.

“I am _not_ going to be that assholes slave again, Loki,” Anthony snapped back, desperation in his voice and Loki’s façade almost broke, but he shoved it away.  

“I do not _care_ what becomes of you, Anthony, but you will _not_ make this worse for me!” The thing was, Odin would tear Anthony apart if he knew Loki had- _Norns_ \- fallen in love with him, so he would have to do his best to pretend otherwise.

Anthony’s confusion showed for a mere moment before he appeared to get a handle on it, or perhaps understood what was happening enough to rid himself of that confusion.

“Well _I_ certainly care, asshat!” Anthony snarled, and Loki was impressed and grateful at the same time, at the other’s show.

Before Loki could reply, they were dragged to the throne room, both chained and…to the knowledge of everyone else, unable to escape.

Naturally, Odin sat in his throne, well above anyone else as he always seemed to be.

“This is a little over the top, don’t you think?” Anthony asked, seeming deeply unimpressed.    


Odin glared, remaining silent for a moment, glaring Anthony down.

“You dare-” Odin began, but was unable to get anything other than those two words out as Anthony began speaking again.  

“You’ll have to be more specific. There’s been a lot going on these past few months, as I’m sure you’re _well_ aware, what with the spying and whatnot.” The genius spoke over Odin, and Loki narrowed his eyes slightly at Anthony’s back; if there had been any spying other than Hiemdal’s continuous watch, certainly he would have known.

 “You dare speak to me this way, mortal? I should have you whipped for your lack of respect,” Odin growled lowly and Anthony huffed in what seemed to be….amusement?  

“Been there, done that, not gonna work this time around.” Anthony shrugged carelessly. “But that’s just me. Not sure what to do about Prancer over there, but…” He tilted his head slightly, much like a curious pup might. “I’m sure you’ve got this whole planned out and really, that’s great, good for you, a man with a plan. I’ve always admired that, but there’s just something about you that’s got me all…” He rolled his head on his shoulders. “Eh…let’s just say off. I mean, I can’t even muster up enough strength to _care_ at the moment, but I think that’s mostly your fault, what with your mind-bending magic and whatnot. That’s pretty clever, I’ll admit, but I’ve never been a big fan of _clever_. Now, devious? Genius? Mischievous? Now we’re talking, but I can’t quite bring myself to respect a man whose first and only goal is to make those he deems _below him_ suffer, but you seem to have your work cut out for you, given whom it is you’re dealing with-” the punch to the gut that Anthony earned for blabbering looked more than a little painful, and Loki winced internally in sympathy for the mortal.

“You believe you have the right to insult me in my ways? To use that tongue of yours to spin tales you know nothing about? Perhaps I should have you muzzled, as I did him.” Odin raised his chin in Loki’s direction, and Loki clenched his jaw so as to remain silent- he mustn’t say anything that would ruin this, not when Anthony’s eyes were on him, not when Loki could see understanding dawn in those deep brown depths.  

So he began stretching out his mind and his magic, searching for the one thing he knew would be very, very useful in this situation, something he knew Anthony would undoubtedly use to burn this place to the ground.

 “You kinky bastard,” Anthony continued, both when he understood he was being used as a distraction, and once he’d caught the breath to do so. “As I was saying, you really seem to have forgotten whom you’re dealing with; we both like to blow things up, we both like dramatics and really, All-Daddy, all this gold? Melts pretty damn easily and believe me, I would know. I work with metal, y’know? So why you thought bringing an inventor into a room full of metal is beyond me, especially an inventor with a magnet in his chest. Well, that’s the simple way of explaining it, so take from that what you will. But, you see, I’m a genius, and it seems you haven’t gotten the memo that you don’t mess with a genius, especially me. People who do that typically end up in splattered on the wall but hey, kudos to you for trying.”

It was tough going, searching through all of Midgard but Anthony’s spiel helped give him the time he needed; he gathered his magic, hiding just inside where it would not yet be seen, feeling ready to burst, feeling it thrum happily through his veins, ready to obey its master on a whim, ready to destroy those who had dared try contain it.

Loki nodded slightly in Anthony’s direction, making sure to catch his eye and say he was ready.

 “You, however, made one mistake; a very large, very damaging mistake,” Anthony continued. “You see, Odin, I’ve got my mind back, and Loki’s got his magic back, and that? That’s all we’ve ever really needed.”

Loki could see the understanding dawn in Odin’s eyes, the poor fool. He hadn’t realized just how _damaging_ his mistake would be, no matter how small he would think it.

Loki heard Anthony’s delighted laugh as his chains broke and his metal suit closed around him.

Loki couldn’t hear what Anthony was saying, or if he was saying anything at all, but he knew he had to be ready for what was to come; they were waging war on Asgard, and that was not something anyone would take lightly.

Guards poured in, dozens upon dozens, and Loki threw his head back and laughed as he let his magic flow through him, felt it explode outward as he channeled it through to his hands, his fingertips, as he weaved fire and air and threw the creation at the guards, reveled in their screams; it was time, he knew, for them to pay for what they had done to him and to Anthony; it was time to take their lives back, and if this was what it took, he would bask in its glory.

The next moments passed in a haze; he weaved spell after spell, let the magic rush through his body, let it take over his mind, knew his soul was singing away it’s happiness, his heart beating steady and strong as he felt the calm of his magic wash over him until he _became_ it, until that’s all he was.

When he came to himself, they were at a standstill, the three of them. Fire roared around them, molten metal pooled on the ground, Odin’s throne slowly melting away.

“You-” Odin began, spitting the words at them.

“Dare?” Anthony asked with a vicious laugh. “Fuck yeah, All-Daddy; we dare.”

War erupted between the God of Mischief and the Man of Iron, and the King of Asgard.

Anthony focused primarily on keeping the guards away as Loki wordlessly turned his wrathful magic on Odin, breaking down the defenses Gungir provided, slowly grinding them away until they were nonexistent, until he had a clear shot at killing the King of Asgard once and for all, at getting rid of the one person he despised most in all the nine realms.

But then.

Then he felt it, agony racing through his veins, causing him to tip his head back and scream or else he might have been swallowed whole by the pain had he not let some of it out.

He hadn’t seen it.

In his mad dash to kill Odin he was too blinded by the fact that Odin would be _gone_ , that he hadn’t seen the golden flash of Gungir flying towards him like a spear, not until it was already buried inside his abdomen.

Everything flashed before his eyes, as they say it does; but it wasn’t his entire life, it was his life after he’d met Anthony.

He saw Anthony laugh.

He saw Anthony cry.

He saw himself holding Anthony while the genius slept, gazing down at the unaware mortal, taking in the other’s presence.

He saw Anthony intrigued as Loki told him stories of heroes and villains.

He saw the golden collar fall into Anthony’s waiting hands, heard himself say he’d fallen in love with the mortal.  

He saw Anthony’s eyes when he’d said it, and knew that Anthony could never love him back and it hurt, but that was okay because Odin was not focused on Anthony, he was focused on Loki and that meant the mortal would have a chance, and that was all Loki really needed to know.

 _“I love you,”_ Loki tried to say, but his Silvertongue had finally failed him.

Somewhere, far off in the distance, he heard an agonized roar, a battle cry.

And then, Loki Laufeyson died, in love, on the cold floor of the King of Asgard’s throne room, his savior a mere ten feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, quick update! This is to make up for all the other updates that took forever. Hope you enjoy! I actually liked this chapter, so...hope you guys do too! Sorry for any mistakes- it's one in the morning and I've got to get up in five hours to babysit. Have fun, my lovelies!


	13. Confessions

What came next was the loudest bout of silence Tony had ever heard.

Everything was moving slowly, as if the world had slowed down for a handful of seconds just so his eyes could track Loki as his body fell and hit the ground with a thud made dull because of the blood rushing in his ears.

He didn’t remember firing the unibeam, didn’t remember watching it throw Odin into the wall behind him with a sickening crack, but he did remember seeing the King of Asgard’s head whip to the side and blood spray from his mouth, painting the golden floors with specks of red.

From one second to the next, he was at Loki’s side, clutching the god’s lifeless body to him as he fell out of the suit and to his knees, sending a silent prayer out to whoever was out there that this god- his god- was still alive.   
No such luck.

Loki was still in his arms, no heartbeat, no breath; his skin was fading to a dull gray-blue, fissures crackling across it like it was a plain of ice, shattering beneath a weight too great to bear _(or maybe that was Tony’s heart)_.

Loki’s eyes were open, though, their fading emerald gaze locked somewhere over Tony’s shoulder.

The spear through the god’s body made it more difficult to hold him, to haul his body into his arms despite the weight being almost too heavy to hold, and carry his god with him to the bifrost, the suit walking behind him.

Silently, Hiemdal sent him and his charge back to earth, back to where it all started.

Back home.

*

The funeral was two weeks later, after the craziness of Tony’s return had died down.

Tony was the only one there.

He didn’t cry.

He stood over the Snow White-esque glass coffin, rested a hand atop the place where Loki’s lay beneath _(Loki would’ve loved it- it was dramatic; memorable, especially with the white roses Tony laid down on top of the glass casket. The god always did have a flare for the dramatics)._

“You bastard,” Tony murmured as he gazed down at the still face through the glass. “You go and take care of me, you make me fall in love with you; with your laugh, and the dimples you get when you smile, and those wicked eyes and your fucking brilliant mind, and then you go and die before I even get a chance to tell you that.” He shook his head. “I suppose that’s on me, but dammit, we could’ve been something amazing. We could have had worlds cowering at our feet. We could have had everything we’ve ever wanted. We could have been _us_.”

He walked away as Jarvis lowered Loki and his glass casket into the ground, and buried him six feet under.

He left the “could haves” buried in the dirt with Loki’s body and the white roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god. Okay, I know this is the shortest chapter in the history of short chapters, but I promise, there's a reason for this and the next chapter will be longer and more in depth


	14. Best Laid Plans (Are Those Shared)

“ _YOU FUCKING BASTARD!_ ”

He wasn’t entirely sure when this had gotten so out of control, but it was quickly taking a turn for the worst.

 Golden light was burning brightly in Anthony’s hands, beautiful and destructive, much like twin stars, slowly getting brighter as his anger grew in intensity.

The walls were rattling, empty glass bottles being shaken from the metal table, half finished projects colliding loudly with the ground, the lights bursting out above him.

Anthony’s yes were glowing the same golden as the magic in palms; he had yet to learn how to fully control his magic, something to this extent could very well injure one or the both of them. He needed to diffuse the situation, and rather quickly, before Anthony thought it good to set him on fire.

He would deserve it, though.

Going back three and a half months, he knows he should have come to Anthony then.

But he needed the mortal to think he was dead, lest he ruin carefully laid plans.

He’d watched from his perch hidden amongst the flame and ash, invisible to even Hiemdal as the clone he’d created fell to the floor in lieu of death, and he’d seen the bright golden flash in Anthony’s eyes as he’d killed the King of Asgard without even having to touch him. He knew the mortal thought it was one of his repulsor blasts; planting the thought had been easy enough.   
Surely if Anthony had known his magic was so powerful as to give death, it could give life as well, and he certainly would have tried.

So he’d watched as Anthony had gathered his “body” wordlessly and carried him back to his home with him, watched as Anthony was bombarded for days on end, watched as Anthony meticulously cleaned the blood from his body and clothes and carefully crafted a glass casket in which his body would lie.

Anthony didn’t sleep. He drank too much, and ate too little and Loki was more than tempted to show himself a dozen times over, if only to get his precious mortal a mere moments rest.

Anthony was on a rather quick spiral downward, and with Odin gone and Loki pretending otherwise, using magic to make himself look like the deceased Asgardian King, he had to go along with it lest Anthony discover Odin was actually dead and not injured, and that Loki was alive and well and running Asgard; the mortal certainly wouldn’t be able to keep it…under wraps. He was too boisterous to do that, too alive, too human.

Loki attended his own funeral, as well.

Anthony was the only person who came, and it broke Loki’s heart just a little to see the unshed tears in Anthony’s eyes.

He hid himself, of course, feeling tears fill his own eyes as he listened to Anthony’s words.

“You bastard. You go and take care of me, you make me fall in love with you; with your laugh, and the dimples you get when you smile, and those wicked eyes and your fucking brilliant mind, and then you go and die before I even get a chance to tell you that.” Anthony shook his head, and Loki felt a single tear mark a hot track down his cheek. “I suppose that’s on me, but dammit, we could’ve been something amazing. We could have had worlds cowering at our feet. We could have had everything we’ve ever wanted. We could have been _us_.”

And that, that had been too much.

Just before he’d vanished, he watched as Anthony settled a bouquet of white roses on the glass over his heart.

So, for the next three and a half months, he watched. He watched as Anthony was worn down further with each and every day.

He watched as Anthony drank himself to sleep.

He watched as Anthony woke up screaming.

He watched as Anthony smiled a fake smile for ever camera pointed his way.

He watched as Anthony laughed with his teammates.

He watched every drunken and lonely one night stand Anthony became entangled with, watched as he slipped away early in the morning so that the lucky man or woman he’d bedded could never be something more, could never be that something he so desperately needed.

He watched as Anthony broke.

It was on the one hundred and second day that Loki showed himself.

That led them to where they are now, with Anthony screaming at him and looking ready to incinerate everything in sight.

“You were _dead!_ ” Anthony yelled, betrayal and confusion and _hope_ in those wild, desperate, exhausted eyes.

“Actually-” Loki began, fully prepared to launch into a lengthy explanation, but he was cut off as a wrench came flying at his head, forcing him to duck quickly to the side.

“No! I don’t want fucking _excuses!_  I want an explanation and after that little shit storm in Asgard, that’s the _least_ you owe me, “Anthony growled lowly, the gold fading from his eyes but staying firmly and brightly alive in his palms, the world never stopping its shaking around him.

“I do not have any excuses for you, Anthony. I had very carefully laid plans that I could not risk anyone upsetting, nor did I want you caught in the aftermath of what my actions could cause, so I did not bring you in on this at all, lest I lose you because of my own risky actions.” Loki kept his voice calm and quiet, watching as Anthony somehow seemed to calm as well, the gold light spilling from his palms fading, the world stopping its shaking, hovering items crashing to the ground as Anthony fell to his knees.

Loki was there quickly, pulling the trembling mortal into his arms as the man sobbed drunkenly into his chest and clutched desperately at his shirt.

“You- you-” Anthony gasped out, unable to form coherent words, let alone string together full sentences.

“I know,” Loki soothed softly. “I know, and I am so terribly sorry. I know I cannot begin to describe what it is you must be feeling, and I know I cannot fix that, but if you would let me, I would like to try.”

“You wanna try?” Anthony sniffled, looking up at him with large, red-rimmed eyes; his nose was pink, his cheeks blotchy, tears marking trails down his cheeks. His eyes were shadowed from days without sleep, his facial hair had grown scraggly from a failure to shave since his last shower four days ago; his hair was to his ears, falling in messy curls, looking as if it hadn’t been brushed in days, and Loki didn’t think he’d ever looked more beautiful than he did now, hope and love and anger fighting for dominance in his amber eyes.

“I do, yes,” Loki replied with a gentle smile.

“Then kiss me, you fucker.”

Without another word, Anthony hauled him in by the lapels of his jacket and pressed a sloppy, wet and desperate kiss to his lips and Loki kissed him back just as desperately, like it was the last thing he would ever do, like it was the only thing keeping him sane, like it was the only thing keeping him from floating off into the unknown once more.

It was nothing like their first kiss; their first kiss was all fire and passion and lust. This one, though, this one was desperation and care and love, no matter how sloppy or messy, yet somehow it was just as sweet.

They didn’t let go of each other, not for a long time, taking comfort in the other’s presence the same way a drowning man would heave in oxygen had he been given the chance.

It was nearly dawn by the time they rose to their feet and stumbled their way to Anthony’s bedroom, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

For the first time in months, both the mortal and immortal got a full, peaceful night’s sleep.

*

Waking was…beautiful. Perfect.

The sun was shining gently into the bedroom, Anthony was wrapped safely in his arms, sleeping peacefully, curled into Loki’s body perfectly, practically molded against him.

He knew that in a few hours time, things would grow complicated, that peace would leave and be replaced with anger and betrayal but for now, with the gentle haze of sleep still clouding his mind and Anthony in his arms, he was content to let things stay as they were.

Loki watched, but this time he was here, holding Anthony while he slept.

He watched the mortal as he smiled beatifically up at him, dimples curving his cheeks, a light in his eyes that Loki hadn’t seen once in those months spent watching, waiting, hoping.

Anthony pressed closer, leaning up to brush a lazy kiss against Loki’s lips, both of them content with the moments peace and rest that they had.

It wasn’t long until reality kicked in, however, and the mortal’s eyes widened almost comically as he pulled away, the widened eyes narrowing into a fierce glare.

“You were dead, Loki.”

“I know.”

Anthony fell quiet, but Loki couldn’t wait much longer. The silence lingered for mere moments, until curiosity got the best of him and caused him to part his lips and ask without really consulting his brain first; logically, he knew he had no right to be asking Anthony any questions- it should have been the other way around- but he had to know, no, he needed to know, and the only way _to_ know was to ask. So he did. Logic didn’t matter much to him, not with curiosity boiling so readily.

“Anthony?” he asked tentatively. “How was it that you came to be Odin’s slave?”

The mortal gazed at him, eyes narrowed in distrust, seeming unsure as to whether or not he should answer the question truthfully, if at all, before he shrugged in a careless manner.

“I don’t know. I was…not doing so great, after the events of the Battle of New York. I had…well, to put it simply, I had broken. I don’t like admitting it, but something had happened to me that I couldn’t explain, nor do I want to. It’s hard to think about, and even harder to talk about, but somewhere along the way, the slightest mention of New York had me reeling into a full on panic. So when Asgardians’ came crashing down into my penthouse, I just sort of thought _“this is it, I’m finally going to die in a way I can’t be blamed for”_. I’d…considered suicide, once or twice, but was never able to go through with it; maybe that was for a reason, maybe it was fate, I don’t know. But I couldn’t. Maybe that’s why I ended up fighting so hard against Odin when he threw me to my knees and tried to make me worship the ground he walked; I don’t know why he did it, and I don’t know why he chose me. He went on a long spiel about magic and brilliance and mortal minds and I didn’t really listen to it. Maybe I should have, but listening to authority has never really been my forte, especially when said authority believes, quite literally, that I should have kissed his boots.” Anthony took a deep breath. “I was planning escape, in my head. If I could just get a hold of one of the guard’s swords, I could break the lights and make an escape in the chaos that would follow. Of course…that didn’t work. Next thing I know, I feel this….absolutely blinding pain in my head, like it were exploding from the inside out. After that, I was a blank slate. I complained, at first, because apparently I don’t need memories to duke it out with my words. I…very quickly learned not to do that.”

Loki felt his heart break for the mortal, wished he could protect him from all the hurt and pain he had already gone through, but it was much too late for that and both of them knew it.

“I’m sorry,” Loki said for lack of anything else to say.

“I have to ask, Loki,” Anthony said, in lieu of accepting or acknowledging the apology. “How long did you know I was in Asgard?”

“I didn’t,” Loki replied truthfully. “I didn’t until I found you practicing your magic.”   
Norns, it felt like weeks ago.   
Anthony nodded, accepting the answer as the truth it was.

“And…I remember you told me you planned to break me. What is it that you plan to do now?”

The question was far heavier than Anthony seemed to know- or perhaps he did know, and that’s why he was asking. Loki wasn’t entirely sure how to answer it, so he took a moment to think about it. It hadn’t been on his mind for months- he’d been rather expertly avoiding it, or making excuses that would ensure he wouldn’t have to think about it, because he wasn’t really sure what he wanted from the mortal and was fearful of what the answer would be, and if Anthony would accept it.

So he gazed at Anthony.

At the crows feet at the corners of his eyes.

At the dimples at the corners of his lips.

At the shadows beneath his eyes.

At the way his long eyelashes framed his amber eyes just perfectly.

At the plump curve of his lips, and the curious tip to his brows.

At the way his fingertips tapped an absent, gentle pattern against the arc reactor, and the way his lips tipped up just the slightest, as if he was always planning some sort of mischief.

He looked at all the little things he’d come to love about Anthony, and in that moment, everything became clear.

“I plan to hold you, Anthony. I plan to hold you, and kiss you and love you in every way possible. I plan to make you my sun and my moon and my stars, and everything in between because I have completely, irrevocably and undeniably fallen in love with you. I plan to show you that, if you’ll let me.” He shook his head, smiled faintly, knowing hope was shining in his eyes and wishing he could hide it.

“And I plan to hope that one day,” he continued, squeezing Anthony’s hand gently. “You will love me back.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Quick update and longer chapter!


	15. Until the End of Time

Looking back on it now, he wasn’t entirely sure what he had been expecting.

Perhaps another evil plan, meticulously plotted out, molded to be his own personal demise but no, that was not what he had been expecting, but he was very pleased that those were the words that had come from Loki’s lips; he’d been prepared for something along the lines of “my plan hasn’t changed”, or for Loki to go on a long-winded rant as most villains do that outlined every detail of his evil plot.

And yes, he was totally mature enough to say he felt something for the god as well.

After that little confession from Loki, things had…mostly gone back to normal, with the addition of one God of Mischief.

Thor became King of Asgard, Stark Tower became Avengers Tower, the team threatened to kill Loki if he ever hurt Tony, Fury got on his ass, Pepper yelled at him and cried a lot when she figured out he was alive, Rhodey threatened to beat his ass if he ever did something like that again…yeah, things were gloriously, blissfully normal.

There was still the whole superhero thing, but that soon became normal, too.

Now, two and a half years later, Tony found himself pacing nervously in front of the mirror, twisting his crooked tie this way and that, trying _(and failing)_ to straighten it out.

“Relax, Tony,” Pepper said fondly, an exasperated smile gracing her delicate _(fierce)_ features. “It’s actually quite easy.”

“Easy for you to say,” Tony groused. “You got married like, four years ago. And I didn’t even get to attend the wedding!”

Pepper rolled her eyes.

“Of course you didn’t, Tony, but you can’t blame me for that. You were in Asgard- I couldn’t exactly send a post card.”

Tony didn’t answer, and instead went back to staring at himself in the mirror; the tux was a deep red, framed nicely with a stiff white shirt and a black bow tie that, god dammit, didn’t seem to want to straighten out.   
Whoever invented bowties needed to be hung by one.

“God, Tony, let me,” Pepper said as she came over and deftly straightened his tie for him, tightening it to her liking and then smoothing her hands down his arms. “You look great, Tony, you really do.”

“I can’t do this, Pep. That’s it, we’re calling off the wedding. Loki and I will go get married alone in Tahiti.”

“No, you aren’t and no, you won’t. You’ll be fine. You’ve got your vows all written out, you look fantastic, you’ll be okay. Now,” she smiled. “It’s time.”

She took his arm and dragged him from the room, leading him up and onto the roof of the tower.

It was awkward, to say the least, walking through a hoard of people staring at you with big smiles and teary eyes _(even if it was your friends)_.

Standing at the altar as Pepper took her seat, he fidgeted nervously and anxiously awaited Loki’s arrival, clutching the worn paper with his vows written on it tightly in his hand.

The pastor was talking, but Tony didn’t listen to much else when Loki came out, looking absolutely beautiful in a deep, emerald green tux, complete with a white shirt and black bow tie, a gold delicate golden crown atop his head.

“-ony?” Loki was saying, and Tony tore his gaze away from Loki’s body in favor of his face.

“Hmm?”

“I was just about to say my vows,” Loki said with a fond smile.

“Oh! Right. Um. Continue.” He felt his face flush, but did his best to ignore it.

“The moment I saw you, my dearest Anthony- really saw you, for you- I had no idea how much I would come to love you. I lost hope, before, in ever finding love again. You restored it. My only regret is not finding you sooner. It had taken me over one thousand years to truly understand what love really is, and that is because of, and only because of, you. We have seen each other at our best and at our worst, but I love you for all of it, no matter the imperfections- I believe those only make me love you more. I love you, Anthony, and I vow to never betray, abandon or hurt you in any way. I vow to love you unconditionally, and to always stay by your side. I vow that not even death shall part my heart from yours, and that I will love you until the end of time itself. Thank you for being mine, my shining star, and guiding me from the darkness.”

Tony knew there were tears in his eyes, he really did, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.   
Gazing down at the paper in his hands, he crumpled it up and shoved it in his pocket.

“Nothing, uh,” he cleared his throat, began again. “Nothing I say can really measure up to that, can it?” he shook his head. “I had it all written out, every last word memorized, I promise. But then I realized everything I wrote is cliché. I wrote our love story like every other fairy tale love story and it’s not, is it? I can’t say what we have is perfect, but I can say it’s perfect for _us_. We’ve been together for, what, almost three years? I still can’t believe it. This was something I never thought I’d be able to have, and then you came along and showed me that I was _so_ wrong, that I could have it and a lot more. You’ve given me something I never thought I would get; you’ve given me love and compassion, and even more than that, you’ve given me something to come home to. You’ve given me a place where I can love and be loved…and that’s not something I’ve ever had. Loki, I vow to love and protect you with all my heart and then some. I vow that I will be yours and you will be mind until the end of time and sweetheart, that’s a helluva long time from now.”

Loki had tears in his eyes now, too, but that was alright.

They were told to put the rings on, and to kiss, so they did, and Tony knew then why Pepper said it was so easy; sure, they were imperfect and messy. They argued and bickered and yelled. They had their setbacks, but like Loki had said; they’d seen each other at their best and at their worst and here they were, not a care in the world.

They were two lovesick idiots, wrought from pain and heartbreak, and they were together.

He didn’t think it could get any better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um, ta-da? The end? I'm glad you made it?   
> It was a wild ride, and there may be an epilogue but for now, this is finished.   
> Everything is happy, everything is okay (or at least as okay as it can get for them) and they're...well, together. Until the end of time, yeah?   
> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this.

**Author's Note:**

> So...I've never done a slave AU before so I hope this isn't too terrible. Lemme know what you think!


End file.
